


The Duff

by tesha198



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beacon Hills High School, Dick Jackson, Jock Derek, Nerd Stiles, Popular Lydia and Allison, Stiles and Derek are both idiots, derek coaches stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-26 01:42:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10776807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesha198/pseuds/tesha198
Summary: Stiles thinks his High School life is running smoothly. That is until former childhood friend Derek Hale opens his eyes to the complete train wreck that is his social life. Cue Stiles' master plan to rise from the ashes of his humiliation and remake himself. Derek, desperate to stay on the lacrosse team, agrees to help him in exchange for a passing grade in Harris's class. Little does he know he's actually coaching Stiles towards a date with Peter. Can Stiles land the guy and end his final year with a bang - so to speak.*Re-write of the Duff movie*





	1. Bitter Invitations

Stiles strode through the fluorescently lit halls alongside his two best friends – Lydia and Allison. He’d thought senior year would’ve made him feel different, more mature perhaps, but honestly he had barely noticed the transition into his final year in the hallowed halls of Beacon Hills High.

Lydia and Allison were just as popular as ever, drawing lingering gazes despite their disinterest in most every student they passed. Lydia would have been the stereotypical trendsetter – impossibly beautiful, rich and on the cutting edge of fashion – were it not for her unbelievably high IQ that set her apart from other bimbo valley girls. Intellectually, she was in a league all her own.

Allison was the complete opposite, still infuriatingly gorgeous but wearing her tough-girl reputation like a suit of armor only Lydia and Stiles could see through. Champion marksman, nationally ranked competitive archer, and daughter of a renowned weapons dealer, it was almost enough to scare off the possibility of love. Emphasis on the _almost,_ as near every male in the school would have risked the potential fatality if it meant a chance with her – of that Stiles was certain.

And Stiles… well Stiles was the same sarcastic, nerdy, more than a little spastic guy he’d been when Lydia and Allison had befriended him all those years ago. He still loved comic books, had an endless memory for useless facts and an overwhelming inability to focus that tended to force him into the ‘ _untapped potential’_ category in most of his teachers’ minds. Not that his grades weren’t amazing - though nowhere near as high as Lydia’s. He just wasn’t particularly memorable.

He let them guide him to their usual bank of lockers, quickly grabbing his advanced placement calculus textbook and leaning against the cold metal doors as he waited for them to do the same. Lydia shared the AP classes with him, while Allison was mostly on her own in terms of academia – with the exception of an advanced history course she had managed to qualify for.

“We’re going to be late.” Stiles offered, eyeing Lydia as she retouched her lip-gloss with a mirror she’d hung inside her locker door.

Neither seemed particularly concerned and he huffed a knowing sigh, all too happy to skip if he thought for one second Lydia would let him slip back into old habits. Freshman year he’d pretty much been AWOL for most of his courses, his poor attendance threatening to hold him back a grade until Lydia used her somewhat terrifying influence to force the school into giving him an all-encompassing final exam to prove he knew the material.

In his defense, his ADD played a large roll in his lack of focus, but he’d decided after passing the test that no amount of afternoon naps was worth Lydia’s wrath. Her cram sessions had been brutal and he swore he’d nearly died at least three times before the test date even came. Needless to say, he was never doing _that_ again.

“We’ll make it.” Lydia promised, eyeing his tapping foot with sharp eyes.

He never was very good at keeping still.

He was just about to make a snide response to her piercing gaze when a member of the homecoming committee he couldn’t recall the name of interjected, cutting him off entirely.

“Don’t forget to buy your tickets.” He reminded with a smile, handing both Lydia and Allison a flyer for the dance before sauntering away without a word of greeting to Stiles.

“I’m not going.” Stiles declared before either one could insist otherwise.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lydia snipped with a roll of her eyes. “I already bought your ticket.”

“What? Why?” Stiles frowned in mild irritation.

“Because,” Lydia grinned sweetly, her eyes remaining sharp despite her upturned lips. “Otherwise you wouldn’t go.”

“Come on.” Allison chucked amusedly, ever the mediator between them. “It’ll be fun. Our last high school dance.”

Stiles clicked his tongue but made no other form of protest as they sauntered away from the lockers and towards class. They all knew Stiles would end up going – it was practically a ritual at this point. He would adamantly refuse, Lydia would insist, he would begrudgingly oblige with some gentle prodding from Allison and they would end up having a half decent time.

“Shit.” Allison muttered under her breath, wincing as she tried to duck behind Stiles a second too late to avoid detection by Ms. Morrell. “I’m failing French.”

“Isn’t your family French?” Lydia arched a brow at her in mild disapproval.

“Technically.” Allison frowned, giving up on hiding when she’d obviously already been spotted.

“Bonjour mademoiselle Argent.” Ms. Morrell greeted with a smile and a nod.

Stiles responded fervently in French, gladly drawing attention away from Allison despite the slight glower he earned from Ms. Morrell in return. Whatever, it wasn’t like he was taking French this term anyways.

Lydia clicked her tongue, coming to a dead stop in the middle of the hall without warning – something that would have made Stiles run straight into her had he not known her so well. He and Allison glided to a stop beside her, all three frowning as they watched Jackson stalk over from across the hall, Danny and Isaac in tow.

Jackson was literally the bane of Stiles’ existence. He was a total douche and totally in love with Lydia, something that only made them hate each other that much more. Stiles knew without a doubt that Lydia deserved so much more than the aggressive asshole glowering at them and Jackson saw Stiles as a roadblock on the path to Lydia’s affection. Saying they didn’t get along was an understatement to say the least.

Isaac and Danny weren’t quite as bad in Stiles’ opinion – though Isaac tended to have difficulty getting along with anyone outside their immediate circle. He didn’t necessary hate Stiles, in fact he was mostly indifferent albeit incredibly protective of Jackson when it came to their ongoing feud. It was an odd dynamic.

Danny was the level head of the three, keeping Jackson in line and making sure Isaac didn’t do anything too reckless in his constant search for approval. He was nice and perhaps one of the only other gay guys in the school besides Stiles – who technically speaking was bi.

“Party at my place.” Jackson announced once he reached them, handing both Lydia and Allison an invite and shooting Stiles an angry glare.

“It’s Wednesday.” Stiles frowned back.

Jackson was a typical athlete, more consumed with sports and partying then actual classes. Something only emphasized by his constant all-night, mid-week bashes.

“No shit.” Jackson’s glare deepened.

“We’re in.” Stiles rolled his eyes, glancing at Lydia knowingly – she wanted to go, if for nothing else than to spend time with Jackson outside of their harsh banter.

“You need an actual invite to attend.” Jackson bit, gesturing to Stiles’ empty hands where he’d been denied the flier.

The sound of tearing paper was almost immediate, Allison ripping her flier in half and handing Stiles one of the pieces.

Her glare was almost murderous as she spoke flatly, “Problem solved.”

Lydia’s brow quirked up, as if daring Jackson to protest.

“Look at that.” Stiles waved the torn paper smarmily. “Miracles do happen.”

For a moment Stiles actually thought the vein in Jackson’s neck was going to explode before Danny put a firm hand on his shoulder and he turned sharply to storm away. Isaac followed behind with only a moment’s hesitation to glower at Stiles before racing to catch up with Jackson and Danny’s brisk pace.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do you intentionally irk him?” Lydia sighed, scrawling perfectly neat notes in her notebook as Dr. Deaton lectured the room.

“Probably the same reason he does me.” Stiles shrugged dismissively, tapping his pen on the desk absently as he watched Deaton pace the room.

Despite wanting nothing more than to be a writer in the not-so-distant future, he absolutely loathed the school paper. Lydia had forced him to join, lecturing him about extra curriculars and college applications until attending the club became less of a hassle than Lydia’s preaching.

It wasn’t that he disliked Dr. Deaton – though he still wasn’t certain how being a biology teacher qualified him to run a journalism club. It was simply that school papers weren’t exactly known for their cutting edge exposés. Articles on cafeteria food, dress codes and the importance of abstinence were the most interesting topics explored on the dull printed pages – none of which Stiles supported. He broke the dress code regularly, he hated cafeteria food, and frankly, he had needs abstinence simply couldn’t satisfy. Thank god for _The Jungle_.

“The final assignment for the club will be time-consuming but earn quite the metaphorical feather in the cap of whichever writer chooses to undertake it.” Deaton announced, circling the room like a hawk with his usual brand of silent pressure. “Anyone?”

No one moved – hell he was pretty sure some present were trying not to breathe!

Lydia’s eyes darted to him, as if contemplating volunteering him like some sadistic hunger games character. He shook his head harshly in response to deter her, something he instantly regretted when Deaton bit his name at the sudden motion.

“Stiles.” Deaton spoke, stopping his pacing to address him directly and earning a groan of exhaustion in response as Stiles sunk lower in his chair. “Thank you for volunteering.”

“I didn’t actually.” Stiles muttered, only to be immediately cut off.

“Again. Thank you.” Deaton pressed, affording no opportunity for protest. “You will be writing a hard hitting piece on the home coming dance and what it means to you.”

Stiles groaned, his head rolling as far back as his neck would allow without injury.

“Guess you have to go.” Lydia chirped with a satisfied smirk.

“Lydia.” Stiles groaned exaggeratedly as Dr. Deaton gave up on lecturing and allowed the club some free time to discuss articles. “This is impossible! You want to know what homecoming means to me? _Absolutely nothing_!” He flailed his arms a little too wildly, catching himself just before his chair toppled backwards onto the floor with him still in it.

“It’s not a big deal.” Allison tried to comfort, though Stiles could see the distinct twinkle of amusement in her dark eyes.

“I don’t have a date.” Stiles rushed, desperately grasping at straws for an excuse to abandon the project.

Lydia clicked her tongue and whipped out her phone, abandoning her notes in favor of scrolling through her contacts.

“Liam?” She chirped.

“He’s a kid. And straight.” Stiles frowned dismissively, already regretting having raised the issue in the first place.

“Scott?” She continued her list.

“Too weird. He’s a friend. A straight friend.” Stiles made a disgusted face with a shake of his head. “Besides, Allison loves him.”

“Hey!” Allison protested entirely unconvincingly.

“Danny?” Lydia huffed.

“You mean Jackson’s best friend who hates my guts.” Stiles replied flatly. “No thank you.”

“He doesn’t hate you.” Lydia rolled her eyes, tucking her phone away.

Stiles was sure she would continue her search when he wasn’t around to kibosh every suggestion, though the number of gay guys in the school didn’t leave her too many options and Stiles had temporarily sworn off girls after the Sarah-locker-room-incident. He still had nightmares.

Besides, there was really only one guy he was interested in taking to an overrated school dance and he wasn’t even a high-school student.

The bell rang signaling the end of all after-school activities and Stiles bustled out of the clubroom alongside Lydia and Allison, promising to catch up later as they strolled away.

He felt stiff from sitting still for so long and emotionally exhausted from being forced into an article he had no business writing. All he wanted was to go home and settle into bed with a stack of batman comics.

Of course that’s when the lacrosse team decided to stream out of the locker-room, flooding the hall with rambunctious shoving and loud shouting that immediately made Stiles sigh in knowing anticipation.

It took less than fifteen seconds for Derek to join the ruckus and even less time for Stiles to spot his muscular frame.

Stiles rolled his eyes, mildly annoyed with himself for having noticed the broody lacrosse captain so quickly. As if sensing Stiles’ narrowed gaze, Derek’s eyes jerked over to him and narrowed to match.

Stiles jerked at their sudden locked stare, huffing before turning away from him entirely, fixing his gaze on the bank of lockers he was standing in front of. In a matter of seconds Derek was striding over to Stiles as if ready to commit murder at the snub and Stiles was ready to pound his forehead against a locker in frustration.

He and Derek had known each other for as long as Stiles could remember. Their mothers had been the best of friends in their youth and only grew closer as they grew up and had families of their own. Basically their history was speckled with summer barbeques, photos of them bathing together as infants, and a very complicated falling out neither cared to speak of.

Derek was lacrosse captain, someone Stiles regularly called a man-whore, and the strong silent type high school girls seemed all too eager to bathe in popularity. They’d basically grown up as polar opposites.

“What were you watching last night?” Derek pried, leaning on the bank of lockers to fully ensure he was in Stiles’ line of view.

Stiles hated that Derek took such a callous approach to being neighbors. If he didn’t keep his blinds drawn at all times there was absolutely no privacy between them.

Derek’s family owned an oversized house in the Beacon Hills preserve – large, secluded, and currently being rebuilt after a five-alarm blaze nearly turned it to ash. Almost all of Derek’s family had been caught in the blaze two years ago, Laura, Cora, Derek and their uncle Peter the only survivors to the Hale name.

Since the tragedy, Derek had understandably become darker and more withdrawn from most of his peers – though his popularity didn’t seem to suffer much for it.

They’d never really discussed his parents’ deaths – nor anyone else’s – their falling out having occurred before the fire even came to pass. Now Stiles simply didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding like a massive douche – perhaps even rivaling Jackson.

“Were you spying on me?” Stiles frowned accusingly.

“Your window was open.” Derek replied flatly. “And movies with reading are horrible.”

“Subtitles.” Stiles corrected with a roll of his eyes.

“Where’re your friends?” Derek asked, eyes darting around in search of them.

“They saw you and ran.” Stiles deadpanned.

Derek’s already broody expression deepened into a glower and he opened his mouth as if to retort only to be silenced by Jackson’s harsh interjection.

“We’re leaving.” Jackson called, strolling up to Derek and forcing himself in between their conversation.

Derek was a leader – of sorts – of most of the douchey popular crowd and Jackson was no exception. In his own twisted way, Jackson actually respected Derek. Unfortunately that also meant following him around and only giving him yet another reason to hate Stiles besides Lydia.

“Problem?” Jackson demanded, glaring at Stiles as if an automated response to his presence.

“Nope.” Stiles glared back, restraining his natural sarcasm as he gestured to his locker being barred by Derek’s large frame. “Just having a little trouble getting to my locker.”

For a long moment it almost looked like Jackson was thinking about punching him straight in the mouth, which, Stiles hated to admit, had happened before. Surprisingly, however, he simply ground his teeth almost audibly and strolled away.

“See you at the party!” Stiles called after him with a knowing smirk, watching as his fists balled in anger at the jab.

Derek sauntered after him with a grunt, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket as he left just as abruptly as he’d appeared.


	2. Labels

Stiles arrived home to Lydia’s car parked in his driveway, leaving him to park his jeep on the street. Reluctantly, he ventured inside, trying to be as silent as possible only to trip over the corner of the rug and knock over a vase.

“Stiles!” Lydia called from upstairs, making him take a step backward towards the door. “Don’t even think about it!” She bellowed, eerily perceptive despite being out of sight.

He sighed, dragging himself upstairs to find Allison sprawled across his bed absently texting and Lydia digging through his closet.

“You know I’m actually feeling kind of tired and-“

“You’re wearing something nice.” Lydia chirped, silencing him mid-sentence and handing him a few articles of clothing.

“Or…” Stiles hedged, dumping the clothes on the edge of his bed and grabbing his own options despite Lydia’s look of disapproval.

He emerged from the closet with a batman tee and a plaid flannel button-down that made Lydia look like she was going have a stroke.

“Listen to Lydia.” His dad called from the doorway to his room, leaning on the frame and shaking his head. “You have zero fashion sense.”

“You’re one to talk.” Stiles scoffed, begrudgingly peeling off his clothes to change into Lydia’s choices.

His dad pretty much lived in his Sherriff’s uniform since his mom died all those years ago. Stiles guessed it was easier for him to burry himself in work rather than face being alone. He hadn’t handled it well in the beginning, slipping into alcohol and leaving Stiles to grieve on his own. Work had eventually saved him from himself, though it did nothing to repair their now distant relationship.

Overworking didn’t exactly make him father of the year when it came to solid parenting. Stiles got a lot of freedom without a lot of supervision which might seem great at first until the responsibilities began piling up – cooking, cleaning, watching his father’s health – freedom was a full time job.

His dad stayed only long enough to see him concede to wearing Lydia’s outfit to the party before leaving for the station, telling him to have fun and stay out of trouble.

Stiles had to admit he didn’t look half bad. He was wearing dark-wash jeans Lydia had bought for him on one of their many trips to the mall and a tight t-shirt Allison had bought him as a joke with the words ‘ _I would bottom you so hard’_ in big bold letters across the front. The shirt made him want to laugh, something he was grateful for in the face of a party he didn’t really want to attend.

 

* * *

 

 

Jackson’s house was large and, by the time they arrived, teeming with people. Music was thundering through oversized speakers and, based on the taste lingering in his mouth, the punch was more than just juice. Pretty much a typical Wednesday night at Cassa de Jackson.

Across the room he spotted Derek arguing with Braeden and veered in the opposite direction. Derek and Braeden were one of the more famous couples at Beacon Hills high – mainly because only one half of the couple actually attended the school. Braeden was a drifter, having graduated high school a year before and immediately enrolling in boot-camp training for the FBI. The two had a serious on-again-off-again relationship that burned hot and usually exploded just as vibrantly. Based on Derek’s face they were currently in the off-again explosion stage of their dynamic.

He carried his near empty cup of spiked punch out onto the back deck, where the party had flooded into the yard and was beginning to infiltrate the pool. Lydia and Allison were dancing light-heartedly to the thumping music, gesturing for him to join them as soon as he set foot outside.

Nope. Back inside he went, turning sharply on his heel before he could be dragged into an oddly platonic threesome. He didn’t dance.

He found a table of snacks easily enough, grabbing the first thing that caught his eye and nibbling at it in bored distraction. Of course his distraction was the perfect moment for Derek to saunter up to the table and disturb Stiles’ blissful peace.

“What the hell is on your shirt?” He practically growled, making Stiles glance down to confirm the answer before grinning like an idiot.

“Poetry.” He replied smarmily.

“Where’s Lydia and Allison?” Derek pressed, frowning as he reread the shirt.

“Why do you care?” Stiles huffed, grabbing another plastic cup of spiked punch. “It’s not my job to feed you information on them.”

“It kind of is.” Derek replied, grabbing a drink of his own. “As their DUFF.”

“What?” Stiles frowned, mildly confused yet somehow certain he should be offended.

“DUFF. Designated ugly fat friend.” Derek repeated, as though the acronym should have been obvious.

“What?” Stiles repeated the question, rage bubbling inside him like boiling water.

“Every group has one.” Derek shrugged, taking a sip of his drink and eyeing Stiles shirt again before continuing, his mouth set into a hard line. “The one who’s approachable cause no one’s trying to get in their pants.”

It was Stiles’ turn to set his mouth into a hard line. He got plenty of pants action thank-you-very-much, just mostly from random guys at _The Jungle_ rather than serous relationships with fellow students. He was just contemplating explaining in excruciating detail his last outing to the club when Derek continued.

“How many guys ask you questions about Lydia and Allison?” he asked knowingly.

Stiles didn’t answer, though his silence spoke volumes.

“And how many ask about you?” he pressed.

Stiles wanted to argue. It wasn’t that big of a high school and the gay population was even smaller. The chances of anyone asking about him were slim to start with, even if he removed Lydia and Allison from the equation. Still, it felt like shit to have it broken down like that.

In a burst of furious humiliation he would later claim was simply anger, he threw his drink in Derek’s face and stormed away, ignoring Derek’s angry bellow and the other partiers’ laughs and stares.

 

* * *

 

 

By the time he got home he was mostly calmed down, though still incredibly angry just beneath the surface. Even his favorite batman tee felt frumpy against the truth of Derek’s label and he found himself collapsing into bed with his laptop to lookup the word DUFF.

Of course the first link was to an urban dictionary definition that was at first informative, followed by sexual and terrifying when he scrolled farther down the page. Needless to say, urban dictionary was not the right choice for research purposes. He continued to explore the internet and after fifteen minutes of reading definitions and looking up pictures found himself even more furious with Derek than he had been at Jackson’s party.

Five more minutes of research and he could confidently say he was _NOT_ a DUFF.

Mostly confidently.

 

* * *

 

 

If Stiles thought it was hard to focus in class before, it was downright impossible with Derek’s words still rattling around in the forefront of his mind. His only saving grace was that he didn’t share any classes with Derek whatsoever so their paths could only cross in the halls – where Stiles could run in the opposite direction.

Of course, as luck would have it, the one day where he was thankful their schedules didn’t overlap was the one day they somehow did. With most of the AP class and a fair amount of the regular chemistry class away for an unrelated field trip, Mr. Harris decided it would be easier to combine the classes for a day. Of course Stiles knew that was code for ‘ _I’m lazy and want to go home early’_ but there was no way he was pointing that out to Harris. He already got enough detention without adding straight up insults to the mix.

Still, he was by no means happy having to spend an entire period with Derek sitting a few seats behind him, broody glower locked on the back of his head.

Two minutes into the experiment they’d been assigned, Derek sauntered over to his desk with overly expressive brows and arms crossed as if accusing Stiles of something.

“Shouldn’t you have a partner?” Derek asked when Stiles refused to even glance up from the beaker he was using to measure a low level acid.

“Shouldn’t you have a personality?” Stiles frowned, glancing briefly at Derek’s partner a few seats back in hope he would return to his own desk.

His partner was surreptitiously pouring chemicals into random beakers without measuring anything, a bored expression on her face.

“You’re mad.” Derek commented, as if realizing for the first time.

Stiles’ gaze finally snapped to Derek, tearing off his safety goggles as he bit back “Well I’m not happy, Derek. You called me fat _and_ ugly.”

“Don’t take it negatively.” Derek frowned. “Besides, you ruined my favorite shirt.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize your insult was actually a compliment. My bad!” Stiles bit, thick with venomous sarcasm. “And all your shirts look the same.”

“DUFF is just a label.” Derek frowned, brows knitting together expressively. “Tony Romo’s a Dallas Cowboy but he doesn’t ride a horse.”

“What the fuck are you saying?” Stiles deadpanned, mouth pulling into a tight line.

Derek fell into silence, as per usual, scowl deepening across his face as he watched Stiles put his safety goggles back on and turn away to continue the experiment.

“I have work to do.” Stiles grumbled, measuring out 10ml of a liquid base.

Derek stood without a word, taking a step back towards his own desk before pausing and turning as if to reengage.

“I’ll murder you.” Stiles interjected before he could speak, halting Derek in his tracks and sending him sauntering back to his lab partner with a frown.

The rest of the class went by fairly quickly, Stiles trying his damnedest to keep focus on his experiment instead of on the broody lacrosse captain glaring behind him. Still, he was hyper aware of the eyes glued to him and by the time the bell rang he was out of the class faster than a horse out of the gate.

Lydia and Allison were waiting for him in the cafeteria as per usual, giving him strange expressions when he raced in clumsily and out of breath. They gave him a moment of panting to catch his breath before grabbing trays and joining the food line.

A few of the guys in the line let them skip ahead – one of the many perks of having popular best friends – shooting Stiles annoyed looks when he followed Lydia and Allison forward.

“What happened to you yesterday?” Allison asked, eyeing him curiously. “You disappeared.”

“Felt sick.” Stiles shrugged dismissively, grabbing an apple and taking a bite before putting it on his tray. “Went home.”

“You didn’t miss much.” Lydia chimed in, eyeing the cafeteria food with disdain as she followed the line.

“Just Lydia making out with Jackson, the cops shutting the party down, and Derek punching Danny.” Allison muttered from beside Lydia, an amused smirk playing at her lips.

Stiles blinked, frowning as he tried and failed to come up with any plausible reason Derek would punch Danny. Nothing came to mind.

“Hello.” Lydia waved a hand in front of Stiles’ face, snapping him back from his straying thoughts.

“Sorry.” Stiles mumbled, blinking and coming back to reality before they had a chance to notice anything beyond his usual lack of focus.

The lunch lady greeted Lydia and Allison by name, with a wide smile and a generous helping of salad. Stiles watched, frowning when the woman’s chipper attitude dulled as Stiles’ raised his tray for food.

Stiles was zoned out for almost the entire lunch period after that, his brows knitted in deep thought as Allison and Lydia discussed the latest gossip, fashion and weapons. They paused a few times, pressing Stiles for answers to his odd behavior, but ultimately gave up when Stiles refused to concede to their insistence.

By the end of lunch Stiles felt utterly invisible. Brave students would greet Allison and Lydia in the cafeteria, staff would have passing chats in the hall as they walked to class, and not a single person even bothered to look at Stiles despite him never being more than a step away.

The bell rang signaling the end of lunch, screaming through his thoughts like a deafening alarm – he _was_ the DUFF.

The rest of the day was a blur of distracted overthinking and severe anger at Derek for forcing him to analyze every aspect of his life. Still, as much as he was furious with Derek, he was even more so with Lydia and Allison. His eyes had been opened to a web of deceit and betrayal and he felt like a running joke everyone had been in on but him. How could he never have noticed that he was the DUFF when it was so obvious to everyone else?

The second he got home after school he crashed – emotionally exhausted and with Derek’s words echoing through his mind on repeat.


	3. Training Days and Parting Ways

The next day was a turning point. He woke up feeling bitter and angry, his morning routine reminding him how Lydia would chastise him for his wardrobe if he didn’t put in her level of effort.

Naturally, he did the exact opposite. He was nothing if not stupid.

Three minutes after waking up he was downstairs in baggy pajama pants, an old beat-up Star Wards tee, a hoodie that was two sizes to big, and his pants tucked into his socks.

“You look homeless.” His dad remarked, mildly horrified at Stiles’ appearance as he sauntered downstairs. “And crazy.”

“Crazy amazing.” Stiles rebutted in his usual thick sarcasm, storming out the front door before his dad could insist he change.

He drove his jeep to school way too fast to be safe – completely being overlooked by the police. Even his dad’s force ignored him!

When he pulled into the parking lot he intentionally took two spaces, parking in an obnoxious diagonal. No one seemed to care, which despite meaning he most likely wouldn’t get a ticket, pissed him off more than it should have. If even his crappy, attention-grabbing jeep didn’t catch people’s eye there was absolutely no hope of him escaping his DUFF label.

He stormed inside like a bomb ready to explode, shoving his bag in his locker and forgoing his books altogether – it wasn’t like the teachers would notice anyways.

Lydia discerned almost immediately he was in a mood, her lips pursing in barely constrained criticism at his ridiculous ensemble.

“What the hell are you wearing?” She snipped after a moment with no explanation from Stiles.

“Clothes.” Stiles shrugged dismissively, mouth set in a firm line of defiance.

“I don’t think so.” Lydia frowned, eyes narrowed in judgmental scrutiny.

“You do realize I don’t need your permission to wear things.” Stiles snapped, anger finally boiling over as he grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

“Are you okay?” Allison asked, ever the mediator as she raised a questioning brow.

“How could you not tell me I’m your DUFF?” Stiles demanded before he could curb the words spilling out.

“What?” Allison asked, face scrunching into an expression of utter confusion.

“DUFF.” Stiles repeated the word as if poison on his tongue. “Designated Ugly Fat Friend.”

Lydia laughed. She genuinely laughed as he finished his explanation, her lips pursing in amusement as the sound finally petered out to unimpressed silence.

“Derek explained everything.” He insisted, suddenly feeling the need to defend himself under the weight of her piercing stare.

“Since when do you listen to Derek?” Allison scoffed, her voice sounding hard and more than a little offended at his accusation.

“Why else would two super hot, popular girls,” Stiles gestured between them with a mildly flailing arm before gesturing to himself. “Want to be friends with me. You’re _using_ me to make yourselves look better.”

“You can’t be serious.” Lydia drawled the phrase with a roll of her eyes as she jutted her hip out and flipped her hair.

“I need some space.” Stiles narrowed his eyes further, immediately recognizing her defensive stance.

He glanced between them for a moment, almost feeling bad. _Almost_. Allison looked a mix between angry and devastated, a crease between her brows that only appeared when she was holding something back. Beside her, Lydia just looked furious – her pink lips set into a hard line, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed as she surveyed him.

With a huff he turned on his heel and stormed away, not bothering to glance back at the girls he’d once called friends. A small part of him wanted to go to class, the part Lydia had trained to think about the future and College, but a much, much larger part of him couldn’t bear to sit still in a classroom for hours. He needed to run, or scream, or do just about anything besides listen to a boring lecture while Lydia and Allison sat beside him – air undoubtedly thick with tension.

“Hey!” A familiar voice called, racing up to him at a brisk jog and snapping him from his thoughts as he stormed out of the school. “Have you seen Derek?”

Stiles blinked, mildly startled by the sudden appearance of Peter without warning. The man eyed him, waiting for a response, as Stiles stood frozen on the bottom step of the school’s front doors.

Only Lydia and Allison knew about his long-time crush on Peter Hale. It had been lingering since he’d first discovered he was interested in men – a burning desire he couldn’t shake and that left him feeling like a moron when he couldn’t form a coherent sentence around the man.

Having grown up with Derek, Peter had always been a part of his life – always there in the background to watch and admire from afar. When his friendship with Derek disintegrated, so too did his relation to Peter. In his mind, he’d already kissed Peter a thousand times – among other things. In reality, he barely saw the man save when he ran into him outside their houses – which was rare – or when he came to find Derek at school- equally rare.

“No.” Stiles replied meekly, the word lodged in his throat as he tried in vain to not sound like a scared bird.

For a split second he regretted severing ties with Lydia and Allison. If there was ever a time he needed their friendship it was now. He pushed the flood of regret down as forcefully as was humanly possible, refusing to give into it.

Peter scowled, mouth pulling downwards in a way that somehow showed off his dimples as he glanced at the school building behind Stiles as if contemplating whether or not to venture inside.

“Chemistry.” Stiles cleared his throat, the word coming out uneven and making Peter raise an inquisitive brow at his odd outburst. “Derek’s in Chemistry.” He clarified. “I can take you.”

He turned around without waiting for a response, listening for Peter’s steps as he followed him up the school steps and inside. It only took a few seconds to reach the chemistry room, Mr. Harris sitting at the front of the class with a scowl as everyone worked on their experiments in silence.

“Derek.” Peter called into the room, not even bothering to knock.

“Can I help you?” Mr. Harris demanded, clearly less than pleased with the interruption.

“I doubt it.” Peter responded flatly. “Unless your name is Derek.”

“Congratulations.” Mr. Harris barked angrily. “You’ve just earned yourself detention.”

“I don’t go here.” Peter scoffed in derision, grabbing Derek and hauling him outside without another word, leaving Harris standing at the front of the room practically smoking in anger.

“Mr. Stilinski.” Mr. Harris barked, zoning in on him in the doorway before he had a chance to escape after Peter. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Stiles said nothing, having learned long ago that arguing – or even attempting to converse – with Mr. Harris was a surefire way to increase his fury tenfold.

“Back to old habits I see.” Mr. Harris continued his monologue despite Stiles’ silence. “Two hours detention.”

“Two hours?” He spluttered incredulously, unable to help himself.

“Yes, Mr. Stilinski, two hours.” Mr. Harris repeated, dark amusement playing at his features. “One for you, and one for your friend. Now sit down and get to work.”

“But I’m not even in this class.” Stiles protested.

“Care to make it three hours?” Mr. Harris threatened icily, making Stiles race into the room and grab an empty stool.

The bell rang a few minutes later and Derek sauntered back into the room with his usual broody scowl to collect his books.

“Sit.” Mr. Harris instructed, hovering over Derek’s table with a deep glare. “This makes three F’s.” He recounted, setting down what Stiles could only imagine was a test paper in front of Derek. “Until you begin passing this class, consider yourself off the team.”

“You can’t do that.” Derek practically growled.

“Actually I can.” Harris rebutted with an almost mocking jab. “Coach Finstock has already agreed.”

Derek stormed off without another word, leaving Harris looking more than a little smug and Stiles feeling mildly guilty for having eavesdropped.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek’s expression was almost hilarious if it weren’t so utterly terrifying. He stared at Stiles with a combination of anger and unimpressed skepticism as he waited for Stiles to repeat what he clearly thought was a horrible joke.

“I don’t want to be a DUFF.” Stiles hedged, feeling the need to explain himself in a slightly less blunt way. “I want to date people, not help Lydia and Allison date people.”

“You’re asking me for dating advice?” Derek asked in mild surprise, tone implying Stiles was completely out of his mind. “Now?”

He took off in a jog to circle the track and Stiles bolted after him, desperately trying to continue their conversation between gasps for air. Derek’s version of a jog was really more of a brisk run.

“I like this guy.” Stiles explained – careful to avoid the fact that guy just happened to be Derek’s uncle. “I want to be able to talk to him.”

“Don’t you hate me?” Derek frowned, glancing at Stiles as he jogged.

“Yes. I do.” Stiles replied curtly, thick with mockery. “You’re a Sourwolf-“

“-I wish you wouldn’t call me that-“

“And a man-whore.” Stiles continued despite Derek’s interruption at his childhood nickname. “But you told me the truth. So you’re an honest Sourwolf.”

Stiles stumbled slightly over his own feet and Derek caught him with an exaggerated frown, crossing his arms as they came to a stop and Stiles took a long moment of heavy panting to catch his breath.

“I will make sure you pass Chemistry if you help me.” Stiles offered between pants, doubling over in exhaustion.

“Are you wearing pajamas?” Derek frowned, eyes tracing his body judgmentally and more than a little insultingly.

“You know what.” Stiles grit out between clenched teeth, forcing himself to stand upright despite the cramp in his side. “Forget it. Good luck passing Harris’s class on your own! I hope you enjoy intermural Wii-golf asshat.”

He turned and stormed away, completely disgusted with himself for even conceiving a plan that involved going to Derek for help.

“Wait.” Derek called after him a few seconds later, making Stiles pause and turn just enough to glance over his shoulder.

Honestly, his face looked like he was going to have a stroke at any moment – clearly warring between pride and the necessity to pass chemistry.

“You’ll do it.” Stiles observed, recognizing Derek’s change of heart before he even came to the conclusion himself.

Derek’s scowl deepened to biblical levels but he nodded his reluctant affirmation.

“The chemistry midterm is coming up so we’ll focus on that first.” Stiles instructed, turning fully to Derek. “Where do we start with me?”

“Mall.” Derek grunted the word as if it caused him physical pain before darting off to finish his jog.

 

* * *

 

 

“I didn’t think you were capable of joking.” Stiles deadpanned, crumpling up the extremely tight brand-name skinny jeans he’d been handed and throwing them messily on the nearest display table.

“I’m not joking.” Derek returned flatly, the tiniest hint of amusement in his eyes.

“If I wanted to shop for expensive shit I would’ve gone with Lydia and Allison.” Stiles huffed, crossing his arms defiantly. The store they were in was extremely pricy, he hadn’t seen a single article of clothing under $80 and that was including the sad-excuse for a sale rack Derek had forbade him from perusing. “I need real talk.”

“You look scrawny because your clothes are too big, you wear the same things all the time, and I’ve never seen you wear any shoes other than a beat up pair of converse.” Derek reeled off in a blur of insults. “Real talk.”

Stiles frowned, fixing Derek with a look that mingled offense with silent questioning as to Derek’s sudden observation skills.

Derek offered no explanation, simply arched an expressive brow as if to say ‘ _can you shut up and do what I say_ ’ before beckoning a sales girl with nothing but a broody glance powerful enough to make anyone with eyes weak in the knees.

Stiles jerked slightly as the girl placed a hand on Stiles’ side to usher him towards a fitting room, catching the slightest of smirks from Derek at Stiles’ apparent ticklishness. He sighed, allowing himself to be pushed into the curtained room and catching the pile of jeans the sales girl tossed him with a serious lacking of coordination.

She pulled the curtain shut on him and Stiles was left in a dimly lit, tiny room with no escape. He glanced down at the pile of jeans clutched in his arms and sighed, shoving them onto the tiny shelf on the wall to strip off his own pants and begin.

He emerged from the room a few moments later with an exaggerated frown on his face and fixed Derek with an exasperated look, lips pursed and brows slightly drawn.

“No.” Stiles insisted flatly.

Derek, to Stiles absolute horror, said nothing, simply pulled his cell out of his pocket and snapped a photo of Stiles in the tightest pair of dark wash jeans he had ever seen in his life. He was pretty sure people could see the outline of his dick through the practically non-existent fabric.

“Dude!” Stiles yelped, flailing and trying in vain to cover his front and back at the same time, a bright blush spreading across his cheeks and ears. “What the hell!”

“Don’t call me dude.” Derek sighed with a slight scowl. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear something that fits.”

“You still haven’t!” Stiles shot back, amazed Derek would take a photo of him for such a ridiculous reason.

Derek rolled his eyes, dragging his gaze up and down Stiles in a way that made him squirm before rebutting. “You need to dress less like the son of a lumberjack and more like yourself.”

“What does that even mean?” Stiles sighed, rubbing his temples before realizing he’d left his crotch exposed again and snapping his hands back to cover himself.

“You wear a lot of plaid.” Derek explained.

Stiles’ frown deepened as he planted his hands on his hips, completely giving up hiding himself in favor of fixing Derek with an offended stare.

Derek’s eyes dropped to his now exposed crotch, lingering for a second too long before he made a scoffing sound and instructed “next” in a gruff rumble.

Stiles stormed back into the fitting room to strip off the ridiculous excuse for jeans and put on the next option.

“These aren’t bad.” Stiles voiced as he strolled out of the room to assess himself in the mirror.

“Next.” Derek replied shortly, pointing towards the fitting room with an angry scowl – clearly un-amused by the fact the jeans were at least one size too big.

Stiles sighed but retreated back into the fitting room to try again, emerging a few moments later in a pair that were neon pink with an impish smirk solely intended to piss Derek off.

“Where the hell did you get those?” Derek demanded, clearly ready to ream out the sales girl who was folding Stiles’ ‘ _no’_ pile and glancing at Derek every so often.

“Someone left them in the fitting room.” Stiles shrugged.

“No.” Derek bit, sending Stiles back into the fitting room, Stiles laughing all the while.

“This one might be my favorite.” Stiles called from behind the curtain before pulling it back and striking an exaggerated pose in a pair of white pants you could completely see his batman boxers through.

It took Stiles a few seconds to register what Derek was doing once he actually turned his focus to him instead of the mirror at which point he exclaimed “Are you filming me?” in horrified realization.

“Game tape.” Derek spoke, as if his words exonerated him of his crimes. “So you can see yourself later.”

“Does it look like I’m playing lacrosse?” Stiles huffed angrily.

“Well seeing as you’re still breathing, no.” Derek responded, as close to sarcasm as Stiles had heard from him.

“If anyone ever sees that I’ll rip your nut-sack off.” Stiles promised, making a vulgar gesture that made Derek’s brows shoot up in mild alarm. “Rip it. Right off.”

“Okay.” Derek cleared his throat, a mixture of amusement and concern. “Super aggressive.”

“Derek.” Stiles warned.

“No one will see it.” Derek huffed, finally conceding to verbalize his agreement. “Trust me.”

Stiles sighed, dragging his hand through his already messed hair and nodding his understanding.

He returned to the fitting room, trying on several more pairs of pants and buying the four Derek picked out as suitable. A pair of ripped, light-wash jeans, a pair of tan khaki’s, a pair of navy khaki’s, and a pair of jeans so dark-wash they may as well have been black.

The sales girl rang them through, giving Derek her number at the cash while Stiles was paying for his purchases.

They left the store, Derek saying nothing about his newfound love interest despite her number being tucked in his jean pocket. Stiles didn’t pry. He did, however stop dead to glance at a mannequin sporting a pair of boot cut medium-wash jeans, a grey V-neck Henley with a leather jacket, and a pair of dark leather shoes.

“Like it?” Derek asked, stopping alongside him and arching a brow. “Try it on.”

Stiles stuttered for a second, unsure how to explain he didn’t want to wear the outfit it simply reminded him of Peter – Derek’s uncle whom neither Hale knew he was in love with.

“I’m actually tired.” Stiles responded a little flustered. “I’d rather take a break.”

Derek simply shrugged and followed Stiles away from the mannequin and towards the food court.

The food court was bustling with people, loud and not exactly prime location to try and converse – something Stiles was immensely grateful for. Still, surprising them both, Derek tried regardless.

“So who is this guy?” Derek asked, arching a curious brow as his mouth set into a hard line.

“Who?” Stiles asked, feigning obliviousness until Derek fixed him with an irritated scowl that made Stiles sigh and continue. “No one you know.”

It was a lie, and he could tell Derek knew it, but neither pressed the matter despite Derek’s obvious aggravation.

“Fine.” Derek practically growled, continuing the conversation begrudgingly. “If you want to talk to him you need confidence.”

Stiles opened his mouth to rebut – he had plenty of confidence thank you very much – but Derek continued before he could speak a word.

“Get his number.” Derek instructed, pointing to a guy across the food court who was not at all Stiles’ type.

Stiles let out a sudden snort of hilarity before shaking his head and barking “No.”

“Go.” Derek insisted firmly, voice filled with conviction and power that left Stiles unable to refuse.

He huffed, forcing himself to stand and glaring at Derek as he strode towards the guy Derek had targeted on his behalf.

“Hey.” Stiles greeted once he reached the guy’s table, leaning over so they were on eye-level.

“Hi.” The guy arched a brow at him, clearly weirded-out by Stiles sudden approach.

“Is that a wiener in your mouth or are you just happy to see me?” Stiles grinned through his innuendo as the guy took a bite of the hot-dog he’d purchased for lunch.

The guy looked alarmed for a solid fifteen seconds as he silently assessed Stiles, putting his hot-dog down in obvious discomfort.

“Did you need something?” The guy asked, almost visibly cringing.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out.” Stiles asked, continuing his clarification at the guy’s dumbfounded expression. “On a date.”

“No.” The guy refused adamantly. “I’m straight.”

“Right.” Stiles nodded, shooting a glare at Derek who was watching them from across the food court. “My mistake.”

Stiles excused himself, feeling more than a little humiliated by the entire ordeal and entirely furious with Derek.

“You set me up with a straight guy.” Stiles huffed, sinking back into his seat beside Derek. “Good job.”

Derek shrugged unapologetically.

“Do the same thing with fifteen other people.” Derek instructed.

“Fifteen!?” Stiles exclaimed, flailing a bit in exaggeration.

Derek nodded, unfazed by Stiles’ absurd gesture. “Without getting flustered.”

“I want a new Yoda.” Stiles grumbled dismally.

Derek simply scoffed and stood, strolling away from the table with his usual unbreakable confidence and leaving Stiles to scramble after him.

They set up their operation in the middle of the mall, Derek taking a seat on one of the couches reserved for lazy husbands who didn’t want to shop and Stiles wandering aimlessly trying to hit on random men as Derek filmed him. The entire thing was twisted to say the least and left Stiles feeling like a lunatic with the sting of each fresh rejection. It was amazing how many straight men and homophobes the mall was home to, none of which took kindly to Stiles’ advances.

By guy fifteen he couldn’t remember a single logical reason he was listening to Derek in the first place. He slumped onto a bench, sighing and dragging his hands down his face in exhaustion.

A tall, lanky guy in an apron took a seat on the other end of the bench, eyeing Stiles before speaking “Rough day?”

Stiles blinked, mildly startled by the sudden conversational opener after having been ignored most of the day. “You could say that.”

The conversation progressed with an ease Stiles was grateful for and he actually found himself enjoying the company despite the guy being a complete stranger. By the time they parted ways Stiles had learned the guy’s name was Calvin, he worked in the food court, and he was in fact gay. He accepted Calvin’s number with a smile and they parted ways as Calvin headed back to work and Stiles headed back to Derek.

“I did it!” Stiles announced with more pride than was probably called for.

Derek grunted a short “Good job” that didn’t exactly sound sincere but Stiles decided to take as a victory regardless.

“Here.” Stiles dug a notebook out of the bag he’d left with Derek and handed it to him. “My chemistry notes. For the midterm.”

Derek opened his mouth to speak but before he could a familiar voice interjected from behind him.

“So you two, huh.” Jackson snorted derisively as he approached, Isaac and Danny beside him.

Derek made a sour expression but turned to face his teammate nonetheless.

“We’re not together.” Derek defended, making Stiles frown, more than a little insulted.

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded in agreement. “We just ran into each other.”

“Don’t care.” Jackson bit at him, making a disgusted face. “You should be careful Derek, his unpopularity might be contagious.”

With that Jackson strolled away, shooting one last glare at Stiles over his shoulder before disappearing into an Abercrombie store with Danny and Isaac.

“Dick.” Stiles spat under his breath, grinding his teeth in frustration.

“I’m leaving.” Derek announced, waving Stiles’ notebook as if to say he were going to study instead of the truth they both knew – going to escape being seen with Stiles.

“Same.” Stiles nodded, glancing down at Calvin’s number still in his hand.

They parted ways without another word, heading in opposite directions despite having parked near one another and heading back to houses beside one another.


	4. War and Peace

Stiles pulled his beat-up jeep into his driveway, ignoring the fact Derek’s Camaro was already next-door so he had to be home. His dad’s cruiser was parked on the street so he grabbed his purchases and steeled himself for the third degree interrogation waiting inside.

“Where were you?” His dad asked the second he opened the front door, trying his best to sound nonchalant despite his clear air of authority.

He was wearing his uniform – clearly on call despite being home.

“Shopping.” Stiles answered with a shrug.

“Shopping.” His dad repeated, clearly skeptical.

“Yeah, dad, shopping.” Stiles rolled his eyes, words thick with sarcasm. “You know that thing people do to obtain new things, recently replaced the barter system.”

“Right.” His dad frowned, otherwise ignoring his son’s mockery. “How are Lydia and Allison?”

“Fine I guess?” Stiles shrugged. “But I went with Derek.” At his dad’s confusedly arched brow he elaborated. “Derek Hale.”

“From next door?” His father looked utterly shocked. “I thought you hated him.”

“I do.” Stiles nodded.

His father folded his arms, clearly needing more information in order to end the conversation.

“I like this guy so Derek is teaching me how to talk to him without being a total spaz.” Stiles explained, throwing his bags onto the couch and sauntering into the kitchen in search of a drink.

“And Allison and Lydia couldn’t help you with this?” His dad pressed, suspicion clear in his voice.

“I just wanted to branch out.” Stiles shrugged, not wanting to worry his dad with the fight he was having with his closest friends.

He emerged from the fridge with a soda and his dad opened his mouth as if to rebut only to be silenced by the piercing ringing of his cell.

A few minutes later he was rushing out of the house and to the station on an emergency call about some car accident on the edge of town. Stiles couldn’t help but be a little grateful at the timing.

He sighed, glancing around at the empty house he’d be stuck in for the rest of the night before his eyes settled on the bags of new clothes he’d bought.

Screw being alone, he needed some fun after the nightmare that was his day. He was going straight to _The Jungle_ to break in one of his new outfits.

 

* * *

 

 

The following day came with a headache and the lingering buzz of drinks from the previous night. He begrudgingly got dressed for school, popping two Advil and forcing himself into one of the ensembles Derek had approved instead of his usual comfortable clothes.

He opted for the most comfortable of the new clothes – the light-wash ripped jeans sitting low and tight on his hips with a tight graphic tee and a pair of lace-up shoes (not his usual converse but as close as Derek would permit). He topped the look off with his old pair of ray-bans to block out the morning sun until the Advil and coffee could cure his mild hangover.

He ventured out of the house without thinking too much about the sudden style change, his pounding head drowning out his usual worried thoughts and Adderall fueled paranoia.

 

* * *

 

Derek was standing with the lacrosse team near the front doors of the school when Stiles’ crappy blue jeep pulled into the parking lot. At first no one seemed to care, most people oblivious to Stiles unless his frantic behavior impacted them directly. Of course the second he stepped out of his vehicle, Danny let out a low whistle and half the team turned to figure out what he was looking at.

Derek followed his teammates’ stares to where Stiles was bending over to pull his backpack out of the back seat of his jeep, giving onlookers a perfect view of his toned ass in his new jeans.

“Damn,” Danny swore, gaze sweeping over Stiles appreciatively. “Stilinski looks hot.”

Most of the straight guys of the team chuckled, used to Danny’s casual comments on other male students. Some began to chat amongst themselves as to the reason for Stiles’ sudden appearance change. Others seemed completely disinterested and returned to their previous conversations without a second thought.

Still, when Stiles approached the front doors, Danny couldn’t help but strike up a conversation.

“Hey!” He called, making Stiles stop at the foot of the front steps to eye Danny suspiciously. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Stiles shrugged, shifting as if debating whether he wanted to leave it at that and run inside.

Of course Danny would never have let him escape so easily.

“You going to The Jungle again tonight?” Danny asked with a friendly smile that made Derek roll his eyes.

Stiles shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. Why?”

“I was thinking of going. Thought you might want to go together.” Danny pressed flirtatiously.

“Give it up.” Derek sighed, a deep gravelly sound with an underlying bitterness. “He likes someone else.”

“The guy from last night?” Danny arched a curious brow.

“Last night?” Derek repeated.

“At _The Jungle_.” Danny clarified, still eyeing Stiles almost hungrily. “Stiles left with some guy.”

“Right.” Stiles cleared his throat, somehow feeling guilty now that Derek knew his nightly exploits. “Yeah that guy.”

Clearly he sounded unconvincing to almost everyone present based on the doubtful looks he was getting. He grimaced, leaning on the railing to the front steps for support under the weight of Derek’s almost disapproving gaze.

“Well, if you’re not committed.” Danny continued, suddenly closing the gap between them and trapping Stiles between the railing and his body, earning a few _hoots_ from his teammates. “How about trying me on for size.”

Danny smirked at the pink that colored Stiles’ ears at his advance, leaning even closer until their faces were mere millimeters apart, Stiles breath uneven and his face dazed looking.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jackson suddenly interjected, strolling over hand-in-hand with Lydia.

Danny sighed but kept his smirk as he slowly pulled away, leaving Stiles heart to ease back to a normal rhythm in his chest.

“Stilinski what are you wearing?” Jackson barked, eyeing Stiles as if his clothing personally affronted him.

“You look good.” Lydia cut Jackson off with a slight smile, clearly a silent attempt to mend fences.

“Thanks.” Stiles nodded, glancing back at the school doors before spluttering a quick “I should go” and retreating inside.

Of course he barely got three steps in the door before his cell chimed in his bag – his pants were far too tight to have functional pockets – and he pulled it out. An unknown number has forwarded him a YouTube link and he paused, debating for a second before giving in and opening it. His brows knitted together as the video message opened on his screen, making him freeze for a solid twenty seconds before glancing around and bolting into the men’s bathroom.

“Derek.” Stiles swore the name like it tasted vile in his mouth.

The video was the footage from their shopping trip – the footage Derek had sworn no one would ever see. Yet there it was on YouTube for the world to see! Him in ridiculously tight pants, pants that showed his boxers, even a shot of him getting his head stuck in a particularly tight t-shirt. He felt humiliated.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom almost the entire school had seen the video and they weren’t exactly being kind. People whispered as he walked past, laughing behind his back and a few even to his face. He wanted to cry, but frankly he was too busy trying to stop his looming panic attack to give in to that particular emotion.

Of course things only got that much worse when the principle – who Stiles had since decided he hated with a fiery passion – decided to make a school-wide announcement addressing the video. Apparently the sensible way to stop cyber-bullying in the eyes of the faculty was to stop the use of technology all together. By the end of first period every students phone, I-pad and computer had been confiscated and by the beginning of second period Stiles was a school-wide pariah.

When lunch finally started Stiles raced to cafeteria, absolutely furious.

“Happy?” Stiles barked, stomping over to Derek as fast as his tight jeans would allow.

Derek raised his expressive brows but otherwise said nothing, as if unaware of why Stiles was livid.

“You promised that video wouldn’t be seen.” Stiles ground his teeth, spotting one of Derek’s friends dancing around making overly sexual sounds behind Derek in a pair of jeans he’d tightened with office clips. “People think I’m an idiot.”

Derek still said nothing, looking at him in a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“Do you have anything to say?” Stiles demanded, giving Derek’s friend the finger before redirecting his anger back to Derek.

When Derek kept silent despite his friends taunting Stiles and his apparent guilt Stiles lost it, dumping Derek’s soda all over him and storming away.

He left school, driving home and not bothering to attend classes for the rest of the day – it wasn’t like he had Lydia to content with anymore anyway.

His dad was at the station for the next twelve hours – some big case demanding all his attention – so the house was empty. He collapsed into bed as soon as he got home, stripping off his new clothes that only reminded him of Derek and quickly falling asleep thanks in large part to his emotional exhaustion.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles awoke a few hours later to a loud banging on the front door, forcing him out of bed with a groan. Whoever it was wasn’t going away and Stiles was not in the mood to have a constant banging when he still had his lingering hangover headache amplified from angry crying.

He stormed down the stairs and threw the door open, scowling as he found none other than Derek standing on his porch.

“Listen-“

Derek’s words were immediately silenced by the violent punch Stiles threw, colliding with Derek’s face with a bloodcurdling crunch. Stiles swore recoiling as he danced around clutching his throbbing hand.

Derek didn’t even seem fazed, following Stiles inside despite being uninvited.

“I deserved that.” Derek conceded, following Stiles into the kitchen and grabbing him a bag of frozen peas for his knuckles.

“Damn fucking straight.” Stiles returned, spitting venom with each word.

“I didn’t post the video.” Derek promised firmly.

Stiles accepted the frozen peas with a silent scowl, narrowed eyes surveying Derek with skeptical anger.

“Jackson was bragging about it this afternoon.” Derek huffed, folding his arms defensively. “The angle wasn’t even where I was filming from.”

Stiles clicked his tongue. He should’ve known it would’ve been Jackson. He’d been at the mall that day – who’s to say he didn’t see them earlier than when he’d decided to come harass them.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” Stiles sighed, conceding the tiniest degree of forgiveness.

Derek glanced at his hand, knuckles still flecked with dried blood, before raising his gaze back to Stiles who was surveying him curiously.

“I punched Jackson.” Derek replied flatly, flexing his hand.

Stiles sighed, unable to stop the grin playing at his lips at the thought of Jackson getting clocked. He handed Derek back the bag of peas and Derek chuckled, a sound that made Stiles’ heart skip a beat – though he refused to assess why – as Derek placed the bag on his knuckles.

“I’ve never had anyone punch someone for me before.” Stiles chuckled.

“Rumor is I’m on steroids.” Derek shrugged, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

“You're not?” Stiles responded sarcastically.

Derek rolled his eyes and fixed Stiles with an exasperated glower before turning to his bag and pulling out a leather jacket much too small to be in his size.

“Peace offering.” Derek announced, tossing the jacket at Stiles.

Stiles, frankly, was speechless. The jacket was the one that had been on display in the mall – reminiscent of Peter’s clothing.

“Seriously?” Stiles grinned, turning the jacket over in his hands to get a better look at it.

“I shouldn’t have called you a DUFF.” Derek admitted with a slight grimace.

“Nope.” Stiles shook his head, agreeing completely. “But thanks.” He put the jacket on with a grin, doing a stupid model spin and striking a ridiculous pose before continuing. “We’re good.”

Derek nodded, clearly relived despite his silence.

“What’s not good is the fact that I don’t think any guy in Beacon Hills wants anything to do with me after that video.” Stiles grimaced, wondering if Peter had come across it yet despite no longer being a student.

Derek simply shrugged dismissively. “Whoever you like, if he’s worried about that video he’s an idiot.”

“Thanks.” Stiles sighed.

Derek excused himself to go study Stiles’ chemistry notes and Stiles planted himself on the couch to watch old reruns with a microwave dinner.


	5. Free Advice

The next day came far too quickly and despite running scenarios in his mind all night, Stiles was by no means emotionally prepared to run into Peter on his way into school.

He’d arrived early to avoid Derek only to find Peter leaning against Derek’s Camaro in the parking lot and Derek nowhere in sight.

“Stiles!” Peter called, flagging him down the second he climbed out of his jeep.

“Hey.” Stiles greeted, mildly flustered. “Looking for Derek?”

“Yeah.” Peter huffed, clearly annoyed. “He forgot his chemistry notes so Laura sent me to bring them. He’s in practice.”

“Ah.” Stiles nodded, completely understanding. Once the team began practice there was no interrupting or the coach would blow a fuse – hilarious, yes, but still a lot of yelling and threats. “I can give them to him if you want.”

Peter eyed him for a moment before grabbing the notebook and handing it over to Stiles.

“You know, it doesn’t really look like Derek’s writing.” Peter arched a brow as Stiles took the notebook.

“It’s not.” Stiles shrugged, shoving it into his bag. “It’s mine. I leant him my notes.”

“I didn’t realize you were that close.” Peter grinned.

“We’re not.” Stiles replied nonchalantly. “Just sort of happened I guess.”

Peter frowned, seeming to think something through as he eyed Stiles curiously, his gaze dragging across Stiles’ body and making him shudder.

“I saw something interesting online the other day.” Peter hedged, taking a step toward Stiles with his head cocked and his dimples on full display.

Stiles cringed, recognizing immediately where the conversation was heading.

“You look good.” Peter continued eyeing Stiles.

Stiles hadn’t seen that abrupt turn coming. He glanced down at himself, momentarily forgetting what he was wearing when faced with Peter’s compliment.

He was wearing the brown Khaki’s Derek had approved of, right and perfectly hugging his ass, with a pale denim button-down and a small bowtie with “Ha Ha” scrawled across it – the Joker themed from batman. A dark brown leather belt held up his pants and his shoes were dark brown lace-ups.

“Thanks.” Stiles smiled, suddenly feeling more than a little shy under Peter’s roaming gaze.

“I wouldn’t worry about that video.” Peter smirked reassuringly. “Your ass looked amazing in those jeans.”

Stiles blushed. He briefly wondered which pair Peter was referring to – the see through ones or the ones so tight his dick was practically visible – either way he couldn’t help but feel elated Peter had noticed.

“Thanks.” Stiles cleared his throat, unsure what to say. “Well I guess I should go.”

Peter’s brows raised but he didn’t move to stop him. Stiles made it about four steps towards the school before he stopped in his tracks, exhaled to steady his nerves, and turned back to Peter who was watching him leave.

“Did you want to…” Stiles bit his lip, his heart thundering in his chest. “Maybe go out somewhere… with me.”

Peter’s brows rose again before his dimples resurfaced and he nodded.

“Sure. How’s this Friday.” Peter offered. “You can come to my place and I’ll cook you dinner. The house will be empty.”

Stiles’ stomach did a flip and he nodded. “See you Friday.”

Stiles managed to walk all the way inside the front doors of the school before thrusting his fist in the air in excitement – something that took a great deal of self-restraint he might add.

It only took about two steps beyond the door for the reality of it to sink in as he began to panic.

He took off in a run towards the locker rooms, bursting through the doors and earning a few yelps from some of the lacrosse players as they dove out of the way of the swinging door.

A few players shouted after him that he couldn’t be in there but he ignored them, venturing further in search of Derek.

Jackson stepped out in front of him after a few seconds, sharply demanding an explanation as to “Why the hell are you here?”

Stiles simply scoffed and eyed Jackson’s junk for a moment before snorting and commenting “Kind of looks like a penis, only smaller.”

Some of the players erupted into fits of hysterical laughter, including Danny much to Stiles’ delight, leaving Jackson incredibly flustered and more than a little pissed.

“Derek!” Stiles exclaimed, finally finding him in the back portion of the locker room.

“Stiles?” Derek returned, clearly startled to find him amongst the lacrosse players.

“I have a question.” Stiles trailed off, realizing all too quickly that Derek was in nothing but a pair of black boxers. His incredibly drool-worthy abs were in full view and Stiles couldn’t help but stare, marveling in their almost Greek-god-like magnificence.

“Hm?” Derek grunted, arching a brow and pulling on a pair of jeans that did nothing to cover his muscular torso.

“Shirt.” Stiles stuttered, doing everything in his power to avert his eyes. “Put one on.”

Derek huffed but pulled on a random workout hoodie from in his gym locker before dragging Stiles into the equipment room where the coach had a white-board set up for plays.

Stiles raced through his explanation, leaving out certain details – like the fact the other party was Derek’s uncle – but giving a general run-down of what had happened.

“You asked him out.” Derek reiterated, sounded mildly impressed albeit a little aggravated.

Stiles nodded so fast he thought his brain might swell from the force.

“Problem?” Derek spoke the word as a question, though it’s flat tone made Stiles huff in exasperation.

“I’ve never been on a date.” Stiles muttered under his breath.

“Danny’s seen you with people.” Derek frowned, clearly not buying it.

“Yeah but that’s _The Jungle_.” Stiles huffed, dragging his hand through his hair. “Sex is different than dating.”

Derek blinked, clearly side-struck by the sudden information Stiles had casual sex.

“Hello!” Stiles flailed his arms around to recapture Derek’s attention. “Help needed!”

“Fine.” Derek glowered, pushing Stiles to sit on the team bench. “What restaurant are you going to?”

“His place.” Stiles answered immediately with a curt nod.

Derek blinked again, pinching the bridge of his nose for a long moment before continuing. “Stiles I really don’t think you need my help in this department.”

“Not _that_ Sourwolf-“

“-don’t call me that-“

“He’s cooking dinner for me.” Stiles fidgeted. “ _That’s_ the part I need help with. What come’s after I’m mind-blowing at.”

“Stiles.” Derek frowned, crossing his arms.

“Please.” Stiles begged, fixing Derek with puppy-dog eyes that made the man sigh and concede within a matter of moments.

The next ten minutes were spent going over things Stiles had never thought about in his life – seating, lighting, how to eat, when to laugh at his jokes. Frankly, by the end Stiles was entirely certain he far preferred casual sex to whatever nonsense he was being trained in.

The bell signaling the start of first period rang and Stiles swore, racing off to his locker to grab his books. The same snickers followed him down the hall – though now that his plan was showing results it was a little easier to bear.

Still, when someone cleared their throat beside him while he was digging for his books in his locker, he couldn’t help but lose it.

“Yeah I was in that video! Hilarious! Eat a dick!” Stiles barked, slamming his locker and turning to face none other than Dr. Deaton.

“Though I am a strong proponent of a well-balanced breakfast I don’t know I’ll be adding that to my regiment.” Deaton arched an amused brow.

“Sorry.” Stiles sighed, glad Deaton was able to take his outburst with a grain of humor.

“It’s alright.” Dr. Deaton nodded. “I realize things have been challenging lately.” Stiles said nothing and Deaton pressed on despite his silence. “I just wanted to remind you about your homecoming article coming due.”

“Seriously?” Stiles groaned, rolling his head in an exaggerated circle for emphasis. “You just said things were challenging! I don’t want to go to a stupid dance with the people _making_ things challenging just to write about it.”

“Whatever you write is the cover story.” Deaton spoke, calm and level as ever. “So write something good.”

Stiles spent the rest of the day in his classes, daydreaming about his date with Peter and running through article ideas in his mind.

By the time the final bell rang he hadn’t written a single note in any class and was more than a little distracted as he drove home to tutor Derek.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles could hear the shouting before he even knocked on Derek’s front door. Laura and Peter were going at it pretty loud, arguing over something Stiles couldn’t quite get the gist of in the short time it took him to climb the front steps.

He knocked on the door and the shouting didn’t even falter. Derek simply opened the door and strode out with his chemistry book and a deep-set scowl.

“Wanna talk?” Stiles asked, earning a piercing glare from Derek as they climbed into his jeep. “Right. Silence it is.”

Stiles roared his jeep to life and pulled out onto the street, driving to the edge of town and parking on an abandoned service road at the edge of the preserve.

“What are we doing?” Derek frowned when Stiles climbed out of the vehicle without a work of explanation.

“So it does speak.” Stiles made an overly exaggerated expression of shock that made Derek roll his eyes. “Trust me.”

Derek reluctantly followed Stiles out into the preserve, winding in and out of trees and not following any semblance of a path whatsoever. Finally, Stiles sauntered over to an oversized boulder and climbed up to sit atop it.

“How’d you find this place?” Derek asked, pulling himself up to sit beside him.

“My mom took me over to your house one day.” Stiles admitted solemnly. “You and me were playing outside when you did something stupid – I don’t even remember what now – but I ran and this rock is where I ended up. I must’ve been here for hours before Peter came looking for me.”

“I remember that day.” Derek nodded with a slight smirk. “My mom was so pissed I didn’t go after you. No one could figure out where you were.”

“I was here.” Stiles chuckled. “I fell asleep on this rock. My mom didn’t let me out of her sight for a week after that.”

“She was just worried.” Derek replied, reminiscing. “She was giving me the third degree the entire time you were gone.”

“Oh please.” Stiles rolled his eyes with a smirk. “My mom loved you.”

“You miss her.” Derek observed.

“Always.” Stiles agreed, tracing his hand over the surface of the boulder. “But that’s when I come to this rock. When I’m up here it’s like she’s just waiting for me. She’s not gone, I’m just lost.”

There was a long pause between them before Derek spoke.

“Peter and Laura are fighting about the new house.” Derek admitted. “Whether or not to restore it completely or make changes.”

“And you?” Stiles asked.

Derek turned to face him, as if surprised by the question.

“I don’t think it matters, either way my parents are gone and they’re not coming back.” Derek answered.

“Don’t you want it to feel like home?” Stiles arched a brow, gaze locked with Derek’s.

“A house won’t do that.” Derek shrugged.

“What will?” Stiles pressed.

Derek fell silent for a long moment, searching Stiles gaze as if expecting something Stiles didn’t know how to offer. Then, before Stiles even had a chance to react, Derek’s lips were crashing against his in a heated kiss and Stiles was leaning in to him so as not to fall of the rock. Derek’s hands found the base of Stiles’ skull, playing with his hairline as he deepened the kiss. Stiles gave in all too willingly, his arms wrapping around Derek’s neck until Derek broke away looking alarmed and more than a little lusty.

“I didn’t…” Derek trailed off, looking torn but mostly regretful of his sudden advance, his expression making a weight form in the pit of Stiles’ stomach.

“It’s fine.” Stiles shook his head, deciding to let Derek off the hook before any awkwardness could begin to fester.

“Practice.” Derek grumbled, earning a confused look from Stiles before he elaborated. “That was practice for your date. In case you haven’t kissed anyone in a while.”

“Did it feel like I hadn’t kissed anyone in a while?” Stiles frowned, speaking flatly.

Derek seemed frozen for a moment, as if unsure how to respond before Stiles chuckled and broke the tension “Too much tongue by the way.”

“ _You’re_ giving me advice?” Derek scoffed in disbelief.

“Hey, you might know dating but I am an expert on sex Mr. Man-whore.” Stiles chuckled, pushing him slightly. “And girls don’t like that.”

“What do you know about what girls like?” Derek frowned.

“A: I’m bi you idiot – contrary to popular belief I have been with a woman.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “B: you think having two female best friends doesn’t teach you a thing or two?”

“Fine.” Derek conceded, glowering in his usual broody way at Stiles as he waited for him to continue.

“Here, a lesson free of charge.” Stiles instructed, turning full body to face Derek on the rock.

Derek arched a brow, clearly skeptical.

“Close your eyes.” Stiles instructed, flicking Derek in the middle of his forehead when he refused. Derek grunted but ultimately conceded. “Lean in.” Stiles tugged the front of Derek’s collar to force him to follow the instruction. “Slowly.” Stiles amended when he started leaning too quickly.

Derek slowed his approach, the tension building between them as the drew together until their breath mingled and at the last second Stiles deeked away from Derek’s kiss and drew his tongue up the side of his stubbly face.

Derek’s eyes snapped open, looking utterly horrified as it dawned on him what Stiles had just done. Stiles lost it at Derek’s expression, absolutely cackling until he fell backward off the rock with a grunt as he collided with the ground.

“Okay.” Stiles coughed, dragging himself back to his feet and brushing off the leaves clinging to his clothes. “Now lets go do some studying for your midterm.”


	6. Used and Abused

The next few days blew by in a whirlwind of study sessions that left Derek exhausted and Stiles distracted from his looming date – for which he was thankful.

Derek’s midterm was last period on Friday and he had a weekend lacrosse game away in another town. Harris had agreed to mark Derek’s test on the spot to give him a chance to actually play in the game.

Still, Stiles wouldn’t know the results until he got back from his trip. Derek had insisted he was going regardless of his mark, whether to play or simply support his team as a benched captain he swore he’d be there.

Stiles’ date was the same Friday, so as worried as he was for Derek, he had his own problems to contend with. First and foremost, what to wear. He knew he was going to wear the jacket Derek bought for him, the rest, however, he wasn’t as decided on. He probably tried on five different outfits before settling on tight dark-wash jeans and a simple plaid button down beneath the leather jacket.

He glanced in Derek’s classroom on his way out of school, shooting him a thumbs up as he wrote the test, before racing home to get ready. He found himself glancing at the clock a lot as the date approached, though more so to determine if Derek had finished writing than how close to seeing Peter he was. He refused to analyze that too much.

When time finally came to head next door, he glanced out the window to make sure Derek’s Camaro was gone – it was, so he was officially away with the team – before heading over.

Peter opened the door with a sultry smirk, beckoning Stiles inside. Stiles strode through the door, heart pounding in his chest as he glanced around the house.

Despite knowing Derek and his family, he hadn’t ever really been inside their house since he and Derek hadn’t really been friends when they moved.

“Hungry?” Peter asked, recapturing Stiles’ attention and turning to lead him toward the kitchen.

“Always.” Stiles smiled, feeling incredibly fidgety as he watched Peter pick up a knife from the counter and continue to chop an already partially diced pepper.

“Good.” Peter smirked, dumping the diced peppers into a medium sized skillet. “Because I think I accidently made enough pasta for most of the lacrosse team.”

Stiles couldn’t help but chuckle at that, feeling the bulk of his nervous tension seep from his body as they eased into a casual conversation. Peter asked him about school, Stiles returned with a question about Peter’s current job and before he knew what was happening they were talking like old friends as Peter playfully stuck pieces of pasta in his mouth to test if they were cooked.

By the time they sat down to eat, the pasta was slightly overdone and Stiles couldn’t find it in him to care.

“So how’re things with Derek?” Peter asked, making Stiles choke slightly at the offhanded reference. “You guys haven’t been close for a while.”

“They’re good.” Stiles hedged, unsure how to escape from this particular stream of conversation. “He’s been helping me with some stuff and I’ve been helping him with school.”

“What kind of stuff?” Peter pressed, clearly not picking up on Stiles’ hesitance or simply not caring enough to change topics.

“Just stuff.” Stiles shrugged, racking his brain for a better answer when Peter arched a curious brow. “There was this video and-“

“I saw it.” Peter interjected before Stiles could even finish his train of thought. “How’re you holding up?”

“Fine.” Stiles smiled as genuinely as he could – sure it still looked fake. “Derek’s been helping.”

Peter nodded with a thoughtful expression Stiles couldn’t quite read and a hum. “He seems quite attached to you.”

“I mean, we’re friends.” Stiles stammered, heart thundering in his chest as visions of Derek flashed through his mind.

Something about Peter’s tone was unsettling him and all too suddenly he felt a desperate urge to flee. He tried not to dwell on the fact the person he wanted to run to was none other than a certain broody lacrosse captain.

“I think I should-“ In his haste to stand, Stiles’ fork slid off the plate and smeared down the front of his shirt, leaving a large, bright red stain of sauce on his otherwise perfectly coordinated ensemble.

“Shit.” He cursed under his breath, grabbing the nearest napkin and roughly blotting the front of his shirt.

“Here.” Peter grabbed Stiles’ wrist and dragged him to the kitchen counter, seemingly unperturbed by Stiles’ failed escape attempt. “Take it off.”

Stiles brows practically shot up to his hairline as Peter turned to fill the sink with water and Stiles opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish as endless objections caught in his throat.

“Come on.” Peter insisted, rolling his eyes at Stiles’ stunned expression. “Don’t be shy.”

Before Stiles’ brain could even process what was happening, Peter had lifted him to sit on the counter of the island as if he weighed nothing at all and was making quick work of undoing his buttons.

“I’ll do it.” Stiles asserted, swatting Peter’s hands away when he felt the man’s fingers brush against his bare flesh making him cringe. The touch felt wrong and made him anxious with discomfort.

Stiles quickly unfastened the last few buttons and peeled off the leather jacket, splaying it on the counter beside him, before sloughing off his shirt and tossing it to Peter. He watched as Peter dunked the shirt in the sink, scrubbing the stain only a few seconds before abandoning it in the water to soak.

“So.” Peter suddenly turned to stalk towards Stiles as though he were prey, clamping his hands on the edge of the counter on either side of Stiles and effectively trapping him in place. “Are you sure you and my nephew are just friends?”

Before Stiles could answer, or even begin to formulate one in his mind, a loud bang echoed deafeningly through the kitchen making him jump. He leaned to the side, straining against Peter’s ironclad arms fastening him in place to see what had caused the sound. The second he caught sight of Derek his heart sank to his stomach and a wave of nausea washed over him.

The noise was clearly Derek’s heavy lacrosse bag, which had apparently been tossed onto a kitchen chair so violently the chair had toppled over. Derek was glaring murderously at him standing beside the fallen chair with clenched fists and a tight jaw. Suddenly Stiles felt extremely guilty, though he couldn’t quite place why.

He could only imagine what the scene looked like to Derek. Peter leaning over him, intimately close, while he sat on the counter shirtless. All while Derek stood at an angle from which he definitely couldn’t see Stiles enough to know nothing was happening.

“What.” Derek practically growled the word, trailing off before he could finish his thought.

Stiles didn’t need to hear the rest to know what was going through his mind.

_What the hell? What are you doing? Peter is the guy?_

A furious flurry of questions spun through his mind, all in Derek’s tone of voice. Each making him feel guiltier with every passing moment.

His eyes shot to Peter, wide and horrified. The man simply eyed him in return, a twisted grin of amusement spreading across his face – still just as intimately close as before.

The expression made Stiles frown, suddenly feeling extremely used as Peter slowly retreated from Stiles and turned to arch a brow at Derek.

“Problem?” The older Hale asked, amusement dancing in his voice as he intentionally stood between Stiles and Derek in a manner that could only be described as instigating.

“Stiles.” Derek growled his name like it was an accusation, though whether directed at him or Peter he wasn’t entirely certain.

“Derek I-“ Stiles slid off the counter, stepping out from behind Peter with an overwhelming desire to clarify that nothing had happened.

Before he could utter another word, Peter cut him off, all but ignoring Stiles’ presence as he scoffed at Derek. “Unless you need something, you’re interrupting.”

Derek looked as though he were contemplating ripping Peter into tiny pieces with his bare hands – something Stiles couldn’t help but feel slightly flattered at despite his overwhelming guilt. Instead, Derek exhaled a deep breath and trained his narrowed eyes on Stiles.

Stiles flinched, averting his gaze to the floor as a shudder he didn’t want to dwell on washed over him under the weight of Derek’s stare.

“The game was canceled.” Derek ground out, voice flat and bitter. “There was a lightening storm near the field.”

“Nothing happened.” Stiles rushed the words out like they were oxygen and he was trapped underwater, voice desperate and slightly defensive.

Derek’s lips pulled down slightly at the corners, eyes racking over Stiles’ body in a manner that had him squirming in self-consciousness.

“You don’t look like yourself.” Derek finally huffed, eyes darting from Stiles’ bare chest to the leather jacket draped across the counter to Peter standing with his smug grin. “I passed.” Derek growled bitterly, slamming a crumpled test paper he grabbed from his pocket onto the table. Our deal is done.”

With that Derek turned on his heel and stormed off, not sparing a backward glance despite Stiles frantically calling after him. The front door to the house slammed and Derek was gone, leaving a heavy silence in his absence.

Stiles heard Peter scoff quietly under his breath, the sound almost a chuckle, and spun around to glare at him irately.

“You wanted that to happen.” Stiles accused.

Peter’s brows rose incrementally but he didn’t protest, making a hurt and livid sound whine from Stiles’ throat before he could curb it. Despite having known the answer he’d hoped it wasn’t true.

“You’re disgusting.” Stiles exhaled in a harsh hiss.

“Don’t be dramatic.” Peter smirked, taking a few steps forward until he was seriously invading Stiles’ personal space. “I had every intention to sleep with you.”

“Of course.” Stiles scoffed, dragging a hand down his face and silently berating himself for being such an idiot.

“We still could.” Peter eyed him as if imagining him in unspeakable positions, making Stiles cringe in disgust. “I did cook dinner for you.”

“Yeah and it was a piece of crap.” Stiles snapped, pushing him back to a more comfortable distance and grabbing his jacket off the counter. “Like you.”

With that Stiles turned and stormed out of the Hale house, leaving Peter alone in the kitchen and abandoning his shirt in the sink.

The second he was out the door he pulled his cell from his pocket, dialing Derek’s number and practically holding his breath as it rung. The ringing gave way to a brief answering machine before a beep sounded and Stiles sighed with a frown.

“Derek, please let me explain.” Stiles pleaded. “It’s not what you think. Nothing happened. I just spilled food on my shirt.”

He didn’t expect a call back.

He needed to clear his head. Frankly he needed advice but given he was currently fighting with his two best friends he didn’t exactly have anywhere to turn for it.

With a sigh he walked across the lawn and into his own house, climbing the stairs to his room and throwing on the first shirt he touched –an old hoodie, worn and baggy.

He looked at the clock on his nightstand, reading 8:00pm, and frowned. He couldn’t just sit around and wait for Derek to call.

Checking his phone again to find no messages as he walked downstairs, he re-pocketed it and climbed into his jeep.

He parked on the edge of the preserve, pulling far enough off the road to avoid causing an accident or drawing attention. It was dark and he used his phone as a dim flashlight, trying his best not to trip as he stumbled through the woods. It took him a few more minutes than usual to find his special rock in the dark. He just wanted to think things through, maybe talk to his mom in place of Allison and Lydia. Sure she couldn’t answer but imagining her responses was always a good way to solve his problems – even in death she was infinitely wise.

Instead, he froze a few meters from the rock, quickly turning off the flashlight in his phone and gripping the device so tight he worried his screen may crack.

Sitting atop the rock – his rock – was none other than Derek. Beside him sat Braeden and, based on the way she was practically trying to mount him, her and Derek were definitely back together. Stiles felt frozen. His brain was screaming at his legs to turn tail and run back to his jeep but his body didn’t want to cooperate.

He didn’t have a right to be upset – not really. He’d chosen to go after Peter without telling Derek. He’d made the horrible decision to go on a date with the older man despite his blossoming friendship with the broody lacrosse captain. He was the one who let Derek storm out instead of stopping him to explain.

He’d chosen a malicious asshole over the only guy who stayed friends with him despite all the videos and his DUFF label and his generally stupid behavior.

Suddenly his legs caught up to his brain and he was all but sprinting back to his jeep as Derek forcefully kissed Braeden atop his rock. His heart felt like it was in a vice and, despite the tears threatening to fall, he miraculously managed to make it to the jeep having only tripped once on a raised tree root.

By the time he got home he felt exhausted, both emotionally and physically.

In the span of one night he’d managed to go on a date with Peter, realize he was in love with Derek and had his heart broken by both men. Not to mention the marathon he’d run through the preserve and his bruised knees from tripping.

He fell into bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillows.


	7. Inside Information

A loud banging woke him up what felt like only a few minutes later but was actually several hours based on his obnoxiously bright clock.

He groaned, cursing and forcing himself out of bed to tromp downstairs and open the door.

“What?” He barked before pausing and blinking in surprise. “Derek?”

“I got your message.” Derek offered, looking mildly uncomfortable where he stood with crossed arms on the dimly lit porch. “I found this in the sink.”

Stiles blinked, mind still hazy from sleep as he finally noticed the balled up plaid shirt in Derek’s clenched fist.

“Right.” Stiles huffed, taking the shirt when Derek offered it and throwing it on the hall table. “Thanks.”

“Look I’m sorry Peter involved you in our problems.” Derek frowned, as though not quite satisfied with his own words. “He still blames me for the fire. You were another way to get back at me.”

“And why is that exactly?” Stiles arched a brow, bitter annoyance bubbling within.

Derek’s frown deepened, a few beats of silence passing as he thought over his answer.

“We’re friends.” Derek offered. “He knew I care about you.”

Stiles scoffed, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, pretending the gesture was meant to wake him up when really is was to push back the frustrated tears rising behind his lids. He didn’t want to hear that the only reason he was used was because a guy he thought he’d liked wanted to mess with the guy he really loved through a friend. Especially considering he wanted so much more than friendship.

“Friends.” Stiles spoke the word as though it left a vile taste in his mouth. “You’re still embarrassed to be seen together at school. Guys like you aren’t friends with guys like me.” Stiles scowled. “I saw you at my special rock.”

Derek blinked, his expressive brows rising in surprise. “I needed a place to think.”

“About what? The best way to seduce Braeden.” Stiles’ voice was harsher than he ever remembered it being. “You were right, I’m just a DUFF. But your uncle was wrong, we’re not friends.”

With that he slammed the door in Derek’s face and allowed the tears he’d been desperately curbing to stream freely down his face.

He could hear Derek’s heavy footsteps as he slowly walked down the porch steps and exhaled in relief when they finally turned to silence. A few steadying breaths later he pulled his cell out and texted “ _SOS_ ” to Lydia and Allison.

 

* * *

 

 

“So all of this nonsense was because Derek Hale called you a DUFF?” Lydia pursed her perfectly glossed lips in clear anger. “I’m going to kill him.”

It had taken less than thirty minutes for Lydia and Allison to show up on his doorstep after his text. Despite their fight they were there and, after a detailed explanation, they were pissed.

“It didn’t feel like nonsense.” Stiles admitted with a grimace, mildly amused at Lydia’s threat. “You can’t deny people see me as your extra. You an Allison are popular and I’m just,” he paused, trying to find a fitting word “me.”

“You’re an idiot.” Lydia huffed, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“Yeah fuck what everyone thinks.” Allison chimed in adamantly. “You’re way smarter than I am.” She comforted. “You’re funny and brave and the only one with the guts to stand up to us.”

“You’re going to graduate and come with us to a fancy school far away from Beacon Hills and forget all about this stupid label.” Lydia promised sternly. “But before that you’re going to come with us to prom.”

Stiles blinked, stunned. In all honesty he’d completely forgotten prom was that night. With everything that had been going on, a stupid high school dance was the farthest thing from his mind.

“There’s literally nothing I would rather do less.” Stiles replied flatly.

“Look, Peter used you and, yeah that sucks, but he chose you for a reason. Maybe Derek feels the same way.” Lydia insisted.

“He doesn’t.” Stiles shook his head. “He’s with Braeden.”

“Did you tell him how you feel?” Allison asked with a scrutinizing stare.

Stiles frowned and shook his head.

“Then how do you know he doesn’t?” She demanded matter-of-factly. “Lay it all out before you give it all up.”

“Fine.” Stiles exhaled in exasperation, certain he wouldn’t be winning their back-and-forth. “But I still have nothing to wear.”

“I bought you a suit before you started acting crazier than usual.” Lydia smirked. “I’ll run home and grab it.”

“I’ll text our dates to cancel.” Allison chimed in, pulling out her cell.

Fifteen minutes later Stiles was being forced into a designer suit by Lydia while she argued with Jackson on the phone about calling off their date.

By the time she hung up the call he was fully dressed in a Lydia approved suit with a Stiles approved batman bowtie and matching suspenders.

“Here.” Allison handed him the pair of converse Derek had helped him pick out with an approving smile. “Now you look like yourself.”

“You look hot.” Lydia nodded her seal of approval.

“Thanks.” Stiles grinned at her, eyeing himself in the mirror before glancing at the clock on his nightstand.

They’d spent the entire day having their long overdue heart-to-heart and prom was in a mere hour. Suddenly Stiles felt incredibly nervous.

“Breathe.” Allison reminded him, frowning at where he was standing motionless staring at the clock.

Stiles exhaled, shaking the doubt out of his head before clenching his fists and exclaiming, “Let’s fucking do this.”

 

* * *

 

 

The school was annoyingly crowded, which made absolutely no sense considering only the senior class should have been present. Still, even the halls were bustling with people overflowing from the school gym where prom was actually being held.

He ignored the stunned stares as he passed with Lydia and Allison, keeping his eyes trained in front of him so as not to trip – he had a history of overdramatic flailing he didn’t particularly want to showcase with all eyes trained on him.

The gym doors opened, flooding the hall with the previously muffled bass and allowing a few stray balloons that had fallen from the overhead decorations to escape. The sound of the heavy doors closing behind them made him wince slightly in their finality as he glanced side to side at Lydia and Allison.

Both looked flawless as per usual, Lydia in a designer dress – undoubtedly one of a kind – and Allison in a simple black number that showed off her legs and somehow set her apart in the sea of sequins. It felt odd to be on their level, to have passers by gawk at him and whisper their astonished gossip as though he weren’t a few mere feet away.

He got a couple “ _Looking good_ ”s and “ _Nice outfit_ ”s whistled at him as they pushed through the crowd and couldn’t help but smile at the compliments. It felt odd to be noticed, even after so much effort to make it so. Still, somehow all the interruptions as he pushed through the crowd were more irritating than anything else – annoying distractions in his search for Derek.

Finally, after offering yet another fake smile at a girl who blushed while commenting on his clothes, he spotted Derek by the refreshment table.

A strange sense of deja vu washed over him, his mind snapping back to the night of Jackson’s house party. The night that had started him on the course of overcoming his DUFF label and, inevitably, falling in love with Derek.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek eyed the table of refreshments with a frown. He poured himself a glass of punch, taking a small sip and wincing at the amount of alcohol someone had spiked it with. Frankly, the school nurse could have used it to disinfect wounds for how potent it was – and based on how loaded some of the students were she very well may have needed to.

He took another sip, reveling in the burn of the drink as he dragged his eyes across the crowd. Across the room, Stiles emerged from the thick wall of writhing bodies on the dance floor, flanked on either side by Lydia and Allison. Derek inhaled, nearly choking on his drink before placing it on the table to avoid dropping it altogether.

Stiles looked incredible. His suit was hugging his body in all the right places, showing off his slim figure and perfectly toned ass. He still looked himself, peppered with hints of his nerdy-ness, such as the comic themed bowtie that only seemed to set him apart from the endless army of nearly identical males in the room.

Clearly others were just as aware of his sudden sex appeal, several gazes lingering after him once he’d passed and one girl even stopping him for a brief conversation, which made Derek frown when a bright blush spread across her pale cheeks.

Suddenly, Stiles’ gaze locked with his and the rest of the dance seemed to fade away to a dull drone. Stiles smiled sheepishly at him before whispering something to Lydia and Allison and darting through the remainder of the crowd to reach the refreshment table.

“I saw you from across the room and thought we might be into each other.” Stiles grinned, grabbing the punch ladle and pouring himself a glass with a sideways glance at Derek. “Your move.”

Derek arched his brows, restraining an amused grin in favor of rolling his eyes and smirking when Stiles coughed at the paint-peeling punch.

“That was terrible.” Derek shook his head, grabbing Stiles' cup and taking a swig with a taunting smirk.

“Should I have gone with a _wiener in your mouth_ joke?” Stiles responded sarcastically, grabbing his cup back and downing the remainder like a seasoned pro.

“No.” Derek scoffed, shaking his head and dragging his eyes over Stiles once more – unable to help himself. “You look good.”

“Thanks.” Stiles grinned, glancing down at his clothes before returning his gaze to Derek’s.

His amber eyes danced with something suggestive, half lidded and thick with a lusty glaze for only a moment before he blinked and the expression was gone.

“About before.” Stiles grimaced, looking suddenly incredibly uncomfortable. “What I said.” There was a pause, Stiles fidgeting before finding his voice to continue. “Of course we’re friends. But,” Another pause and Derek frowned, unsure where the conversation was heading. “I don’t want to be.”

Derek’s frown deepened and Stiles spluttered, shaking his head and clamoring for words - as he usually did when nerves got the best of him.

“What I mean is, I want more than that.” Stiles sighed, dragging a hand roughly through his hair in frustration.

There was a long silence between them, filled only by the heavy bass of the music pounding around them.

“You like me?” Derek hedged, breaking the silence with more than a little skepticism.

“Yeah.” Stiles chuckled, as though even he didn’t know what to make of the sentiment.

Derek opened his mouth to respond, only to be silenced by the furious bark of none other than Jackson as he violently shoved his way through the crowd, Danny and Isaac trailing behind him.

“Nice tie.” He sneered mockingly, narrowing his eyes at Stiles. “Are you attending Comicon after this?”

“I wish.” Stiles huffed, no hint of anger or hurt in his voice – simply genuine desire at the idea.

Jackson blinked and Derek coughed to hide a snicker threatening to slip through his calm demeanor. Rarely did Jackson seem lost for words, though rarely did someone ignore his callous behavior and venomous jabs.

“You ruined my date.” Jackson barked, steam practically billowing from his ears at Stiles’ nonchalance. “I don’t know what Lydia sees in a Duff like you.”

“Jackson.” Derek warned in a low growl.

“It’s fine.” Stiles shrugged with a disinterested roll of his eyes, waving off Derek’s interjection before refocusing on Jackson. “You used to make me so mad.” Stiles admitted, eyes dragging up and down Jackson before exhaling a disappointed sigh. “But now all I feel is pity.”

“What?” Jackson all but growled, jaw clenching and fists balling as if ready to throw a punch.

“Sure, I’m a Duff.” Stiles shrugged again, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “But so are you. There’s always going to be someone hotter than you. Like Derek, if you’re a ten then he’s definitely a twenty. I mean have you felt his arms? Solid.”

Jackson blinked, dumbfounded by Stiles’ tangent as Danny subtly eyed Derek’s arms with a low chuckle.

“What I mean is,” Stiles cleared his throat, blushing as his brain caught up to his mouth. “You’re so focused on this stupid label that you’re ignoring what’s important. Lydia really likes you. Stop making her choose between being with you and being my friend.” He turned to glance at Lydia behind him on the dance floor with Allison. “I don’t really care about any of this.” He waved his arms around a little spastically, gesturing at the dance as a whole. “But I do care about her. And she cares about you. So like it or not, you’re stuck with me.” Stiles nodded to reaffirm his point. “Just stop harping on me because I don’t give a shit about your labels. Besides, I have all the inside information you want.”

Jackson said nothing, but Derek could see the gears turning behind his eyes as he glared at Stiles.

A deafeningly piercing screech erupted through the music, making everyone flinch before the Principle tapped the microphone a couple times for emphasis and began his speech. The interruption ended their conversation, Jackson turning to face the stage, his expression remaining just as conflicted, as Stiles strolled over to Lydia and Allison a few feet away.

Derek watched him go, stuck between Jackson and Danny.


	8. Pain in Truth

“How’d it go?” Allison asked, eyeing Stiles as he came to stand between her and Lydia.

“Surprisingly okay.” Stiles nodded, his eyes darting briefly to Derek before returning to the Principal on stage.

Lydia nudged him in silent support, whatever she was about to say instantly silenced as her name echoed through the gym followed by a round of applause as her victory was announced.

Homecoming Queen – Stiles had never doubted the outcome for a moment.

Stiles and Allison pushed her towards the stage, cheering as she accepted the crown and a bouquet of flowers with a regal smile.

Unsurprisingly, Derek’s name was called for Homecoming King and Stiles offered him a whistle and wink as he glanced back on his way to the stage. Again, Stiles was completely unsurprised by the result.

What did surprise him, however, was Derek grabbing the crown from the Principal and hopping off the stage. A heavy silence fell over the crowd, followed by heated whispers as Derek marched straight up to Jackson and plopped the crown on his head.

Jackson looked like a deer caught in the headlights, completely frozen as Derek whispered something in his ear and pushed him towards the stage. The crowd cheered as Jackson climbed the steps to meet Lydia onstage, but all Stiles could focus on was Derek stomping towards him with an unreadable expression on his face.

Without a moments hesitation Derek’s hands cupped his cheeks and drew him in for a kiss, their lips crashing together in a heated flurry that made Stiles’ head spin and his heart pound in his chest. Just when Stiles thought he couldn’t take it anymore, that he might explode from the overwhelming lust and mind-blowing thrill of it all, Derek broke away, leaving just enough space for their lips to graze as he spoke.

“Let’s go.” He declared, all but dragging Stiles out of the gym in his delirious haze of shock and desire.

From somewhere behind him, Stiles could hear Allison whistle at them, though his head was thrumming with the sound of his own heartbeat, leaving her call nothing but a dull drone in the back of his mind.

When they were in the hall, Stiles finally regained some semblance of his conscious brain and pulled Derek towards the journalism clubroom.

The lights were off and they practically fell through the door when it opened, barely able to stop kissing long enough to catch themselves mid topple. Stiles snickered, grabbing Derek’s shirt and pulling him in for another kiss as Derek slid his hands down Stiles’ sides to cup his ass, pulling his legs around his waist with a hum of satisfaction.

They remained like that for a moment, tongues mingling together and Stiles’ hands dragging through Derek’s hair to deepen their kiss, until Derek set Stiles down on a table and practically ripped open his dress shirt, sending a couple buttons bouncing across the floor.

“Lydia might kill you.” Stiles chuckled, sucking a hickey into Derek’s neck as his shirt was tossed across the room.

“Don’t care.” Derek growled darkly, returning Stiles’ hickey with two of his own.

Their kissing resumed, Stiles unbuttoning Derek’s pants before breaking away with a hand on his firm chest and an exhale of mild regret.

“Wait.” He instructed, hopping off the table and turning on a nearby computer screen.

Derek huffed, sucking another hickey into the back of Stiles’ neck and dragging his hand down his side before slipping it into the waistband of his pants.

Stiles groaned, shuddering at the sensation of Derek’s hand sweeping across his already hard cock.

“If you’re doing homework I might kill myself.” Derek growled, nipping Stiles’ neck in irritation as he opened a word document and began to type.

“It’s just my article for homecoming.” Stiles chuckled, planting another deep kiss on Derek’s lips over his shoulder. “I’m feeling inspired.”

Derek grumbled his nonsensical objection into the crook of Stiles’ neck, wrapping his hand around Stiles cock and pumping slowly until Stiles was bent over the table panting with barely a sentence written on the screen.

“I can finish this later.” Stiles panted, abandoning the computer in favor of turning to face Derek and removing the man’s pants.

Derek all but growled, a deep rumble of desire in his chest as he quickly removed Stiles’ pants and roughly pushed him back onto the desk, forcing his legs apart by inserting himself between them. Stiles moaned, gripping the edge of the desk to avoid sprawling backwards across one of the computers.

Derek licked his fingers before crashing their lips back together and using his newly slicked digits to slowly ease into Stiles. Stiles’ mind felt white and his skin electric, his lips more than a little tender from the assault. He moaned when the first finger found its way inside him, writhing slightly against the sensation, breaking away from Derek’s kiss in favor of inhaling some much needed oxygen – if his spinning head was anything to go by.

A few moments passed before Derek slowly worked a second finger inside, careful to give Stiles time to adjust before scissoring them and watching Stiles’ face contort with pleasure.

“Derek,” Stiles panted, leaning forward enough to rest his forehead in the crook of Derek’s neck. “Please.”

Derek didn’t need much prompting after that, withdrawing his fingers from Stiles and roughly spinning him so he was sprawled face down across the desk. Stiles could feel Derek’s warmth as he positioned at his entrance, followed by a slight burn as Derek pushed inside. There was a pause once he was fully in, both panting at the sensation, before Derek began to thrust, in slowly and out quickly.

Stiles groaned, pushing back to meet him and deepen their connection.

It was strange, his hips hurt slightly against the edge of the desk and his legs threatened to buckle from keeping such an unusual position, but he didn’t care. All he could feel, all that was present in that moment, was Derek.

He felt Derek’s grip tighten on his hips, fingers digging into his flesh and making him bite his bottom lip to keep from shouting at the sudden rush of pleasure as Derek came. Stiles followed not moments later, body turning limp and exhausted as Derek withdrew and Stiles took a couple seconds to let the moment sink in.

 

* * *

 

 

Even as he collected his clothes where they’d been haphazardly tossed to various parts of the room, his brain was replaying everything on a constant loop, as though his consciousness couldn’t believe the reality that’d just happened. His entire body felt pliable, and he felt oddly distracted in his own thoughts as he stumbled around the room on shaky legs.

“Toss me my shirt.” Derek asked, gesturing to his white button-down draped over a nearby computer screen.

Stiles smirked, pulling on his pants before grabbing the shirt and handing it over.

“You never told me you got a tattoo.” Stiles arched an inquisitive brow as he watched Derek cover the ink between his shoulder blades with his shirt.

Derek stiffened, hesitating for a moment before replying, “It was two years ago.”

“Oh.” Stiles tore his gaze away in favor of scanning the room for his own shirt, his pliability suddenly disappearing as his muscles tensed in grim understanding.

Two years ago – the time of the fire that caused the untimely demise of most of Derek’s family.

“I’ve been thinking of getting one for my mom.” Stiles offered, his discomfort with silence winning out over his better judgment. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” Derek replied without even a beat of hesitation.

Stiles flinched, spotting his shirt in a heap beneath a table and making a beeline for it. He frowned, slipping it on to find it did little but hang open loosely thanks to Derek having torn off most of the buttons.

He glanced downward, inspecting his disheveled state in an attempt to avoid eye contact with Derek who, much to Stiles’ unease, had yet to say anything of substance. The quiet made him feel heavy with doubt, his mind whirring with suspicion of Derek’s regret at having fucked him.

It only took a few seconds of having his gaze turned toward the floor for him to spot the phone. It was under the table where his shirt had been, newly uncovered now their clothes were back on.

Stiles knew it was Derek’s, most likely having fallen out of his pocket when he’d tossed his suit jacket aside. His own phone was safely in Lydia’s clutch – his pants far too fitted for a phone, or so Lydia had insisted when she’d forcibly confiscated it.

Bending down to pick it up, he froze, Braeden’s name flashing across the screen as text after text buzzed in one after another.

The final remnants of the happy adrenaline high he’d been soaring on suddenly plummeted to a frigid crash of dismay and humiliation.

He could see pieces of the texts as they flashed across the lock screen, disappearing with the next just as fast as they appeared.

_“Come over.”_

_“Tonight’s my last night.”_

_“Don’t forget what you promised to do.”_

Stiles blinked back the wetness threatening to leave his eyes, scowling as he threw the phone to Derek before he saw something he wouldn’t be able to forget.

He felt dirty. Used. But also, incredibly angry – not just at Derek, but at himself for having forgotten that less than 24 hours ago he’d caught Derek making out with Braeden at his rock.

How had he let himself be swept up in the moment when Derek had just gotten back together with his girlfriend? How had he let himself be so stupid?

“Stiles.” Derek grabbed his forearm as he stalked past him towards the door.

Stiles turned just enough to fix Derek with a hard expression, brow arched in silent demand for a valid explanation.

Derek’s brows knitted together, his expression slightly pained but mostly resigned.

Stiles waited, desperate for the heavy silence to break, for Derek to say something – anything. What felt like an eternity passed, the seconds ticking by in deafening finality before Stiles turned, slamming his eyes shut for a single beat, before wrenching his arm away.

“Goodbye Derek.”

Stiles never looked back. Some distant part of him knew that his shirt was hanging messily open as he strode through the halls, most of the buttons torn off. An even smaller part knew that his open shirt put the evidence of their affair on full display, his neck and collarbone riddled with newly forming hickeys.

He’d almost made it to the front doors before Lydia and Allison caught him. Stiles knew he must’ve looked a wreck, that it was so much worse than what he wanted to admit. It was written all over their faces the moment they saw him.

Lydia looked as though she had a million questions, her lips pursed as if she were literally biting her tongue. Stiles couldn’t help but be grateful for her restraint.

Allison looked a strange cross between fury and sorrow, her expression something Stiles couldn’t even begin to interpret.

Behind him, he could hear heavy footsteps, approaching rapidly then tapering to an abrupt stop. He didn’t need to turn, once again Lydia and Allison’s expressions said it all. He knew Derek was standing behind him.

In an instant both Lydia and Allison had brushed past him, standing at his back like a human barricade to the man Stiles simultaneously loved and hated. The man Stiles had grown up with, who Stiles had trusted, who he’d forgiven, who he’d given himself to wholly. Who had betrayed him.

Stiles ran. He pushed through the front doors to the school in a flurry of flailing limbs and just started running.

As though the universe were mocking the whole ordeal, it was pouring rain outside. It felt like a stereotypical movie, the kind Stiles would scoff at and abruptly change the channel. The kind Lydia repeatedly forced him to watch and scolded him for falling asleep before the end.

Each droplet exploded against his skin, stinging him with the cold and drawing his focus away from his emotional pain in favor of reeling against the physical. He suddenly understood those horribly cliché scenes in movies, understood why no one ever took cover but instead stood in the downpour like it could wash away their damage. It wasn’t about absolution, it was about clarity, about the truth in the pain.

He wasn’t sure when he stopped running. It was far past where his jeep had been parked. Way past the edge of school property or even the block surrounding. In fact, by the time his lungs hurt too much for him to continue, he had no idea where he was.

He simply took a seat on the nearest bus bench and reveled in the rain.

He must’ve been there an hour before he saw headlights through the downpour. An overly expensive car pulled to the curb, the passenger door opening to reveal Allison as she stepped out into the rain.

“We stole it from Jackson.” Allison offered, trying in vain to break the tension as she sat down next to him on the bench.

“I didn’t ask.” Stiles returned, glancing at Lydia sitting in the drivers seat.

“I know.” Allison nodded.

A long pause hung between them before Stiles dragged a hand through his drenched hair and finally spoke.

“Thanks.”

“Anytime.” She sighed, wrapping one arm around his shoulders in a brief hug before pulling him to his feet and dragging him to the car.

He climbed in without a word, clumsily slumping into the tiny back seat and shivering. His clothes were plastered to his skin, the car heaters doing nothing but emphasizing the temperature difference between his flesh and the icy embrace of the fabric.

“You’re staying with me for the weekend.” Allison announced as Lydia pulled into the driveway to her house.

“I’m going to your house to get you some clothes.” Lydia nodded, leaving no chance for objection.

He was too tired to object anyway.

Allison helped him out of the car, saving him from falling flat onto the pavement. She rolled her eyes with a fond smile and pulled him up the drive and inside as the Porsche sped away with a squeal of the tires.

“Stiles.” Allison’s dad nodded to him, voicing no objection as Allison dragged him upstairs. He was probably the only guy alive who survived climbing those steps.

Allison pushed him into the bathroom, ordering him to take a hot shower before locking him in.

His clothes resisted their removal to the point that Stiles’ frustration got the better of him and he wound up cutting them off with a pair of scissors he found stashed away in the vanity.

The hot water felt amazing against his skin. His stiff muscles relaxed in the warmth of the spray, the last of his tears washing away, masked by the water dripping down his face and body.

By the time Allison returned with clothes Lydia had taken from his room, he was sitting on the floor of the shower watching steam billow through the small room in clouds.

“I’m an idiot.” He spoke, too numb to feel embarrassed as Allison turned off the water and dropped a towel on him.

“Maybe.” Allison agreed, making Stiles frown and narrow his eyes at her. “But not because you believed in him.”

“I don’t know why I’m…” Stiles trailed off, pausing before muttering into the towel, “it was only sex.”

“It’s never just sex when there’s feelings involved.” She sighed.

“Feelings suck.” He grumbled, dragging himself to his feet and pulling on the loose pajama pants Lydia had picked out.

“Yep.” She agreed.

She left him alone then, returning downstairs where he could hear Lydia banging things around in the kitchen.

He quickly towel dried his hair, not bothering to brush it, before stoning his expression in the mirror and heading downstairs.

“Here.” Lydia set a plate of scarily perfect looking peanut butter cookies down in front of him.

“Thanks.” He quickly took a bite and nodded his approval.

“What happened?” Lydia pressed.

Stiles choked a bit on the cookie before putting the other half back on the plate and eyeing her with mild irritation.

Leave it to Lydia to cut through the bullshit.

“I slept with him.” Stiles answered, resigning himself to the fact Lydia would find her answer one way or another.

At her arched brow he sighed and continued, “He’s with Braeden.”

Stiles picked up the other half of cookie, looking at it in silence for a moment before bringing his fist down on the plate, sending crumbs scattering across the counter.

“He slept with me and he’s still with Braeden.”

“I punched him.” Lydia announced after giving Stiles a few moments to breathe.

Stiles blinked, not sure how he should respond. He could see Allison punching someone, sure, but Lydia? No, Lydia was many things but violent wasn’t typically one of them. She had other ways of destroying the people who wronged her – usually much more painful ways.

“Thanks?” He arched a brow, frowning slightly as he tried to imagine it.

The next hour was spent in an interrogation that rivaled even that of the BHPD. Lydia was ruthless in her questions, getting into every vivid detail as he recounted the incident. By the end he was exhausted beyond words and Lydia looked ready to murder someone.

Allison handed him a glass of amber liquid and at Stiles questioning glance simply shrugged and announced “Whiskey”.

Stiles stared at the glass for a second, images of his father after his mother’s death flooding his mind, before downing the drink in one gulp and wincing at the burn in his chest.

Two drinks later he was passed out in Allison’s bed, Allison and Lydia wedged on either side of him as though they knew full well he could run at any moment.


End file.
